The Hollow Winds of Time
by pewterlocket
Summary: Dispatched to keep an eye on Severus Snape while Harry went with Dumbledore to retrieve Slytherin's locket, Hermione Granger's life tumbles into chaos when Death Eaters invade Hogwarts and her covert operation takes a mysterious detour.
1. Chapter 1: The Silver Stilletto

**Author's Note:** The following narrative is canon with the books up until the chapter "Flight of the Prince" in _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_. However, that doesn't mean that there aren't new reasons for a character's past behavior.

The main plot of this tale came from one of my readers, _mama123_ , who apparently has been mulling over the idea for quite a while. I've made a few changes to her preliminary outline of the story, to make all the events work right, and added a few plot flourishes myself. It's a great idea and I hope I can do her vision of the story justice.

Thanks for reading. Double thanks for those who read and review!

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Chapter 1: The Silver Stiletto

* * *

 _June 30, 1997_

Hermione felt like they were being way too obvious, she and Luna. Harry had told her to keep an eye on Snape and that's what she was trying to do. They had stalked him, as discreetly as possible, throughout the evening and had been parked outside his office for the last two hours. Taking up a position in a small alcove, on a bench, and within ten yards of the entrance to his office, they were pretending to study their respective copies of _Advanced Potion-Making_. It was to be their excuse, flimsy as it was, if they were caught outside their dormitories considerably past curfew. With Professor Snape as head of house, she didn't expect a single Slytherin out of bed and roaming the halls, so their chances of getting caught in the dungeons were slim to none. Unless Professor Snape himself found them out. Then there would be hell to pay.

As she shifted, again, on the cold stone bench, she pondered Harry's insistence that she keep tabs on Snape's whereabouts. He had always been suspicious of Severus Snape, ever since their first potions class, despite being proved wrong time after time. And he had seemed so convinced, a few hours ago, that _this_ time he was right. She rubbed her eyes and leaned back against the hard stone wall.

Professor Snape. The man was an enigma. Obviously a genius, he probably knew more about potions and dark arts than any man alive. Hermione had never labored under the bias about Snape that Harry had. Although their professor could be nasty from time to time, her observations concluded that he rarely responded in such a way unless provoked, though she had to admit that many of those provocations were rather minor. And there was that incident with her teeth. Although her feelings had initially been crushed at his remark, it had all turned out for the better because she had finally gotten them fixed. Overall, she had a high opinion of the man and, if truth be told, a smidgen of a crush. Not anything like second year when Gilderoy Lockhart had been their D.A.D.A. teacher. She still blushed at the thought of how stupid that had been. No, this was more of a deep respect for the dedication to scholarly pursuits that Professor Snape exhibited. Whenever she thought about the type of man that she would want to marry, that quality was always at the top of her list and because Professor Snape was her prime example of such a characteristic, her imaginary husband tended to be tall and thin and wore billowing black robes. That's was all there was to it; not even a real crush. Well, that and the fact that he moved in such an elegant fashion. And that he had such graceful hands. And that voice . . .

"That's a very nice jumper, you know," Luna whispered to her. "Is it Muggle made?"

Hermione looked down at the dark red jumper she had hastily thrown on after classes had ended for the day. She usually only wore it in the Gryffindor common room, but she was glad she had it on now; it was cold down here. Last summer she had seen a bit of red peeking out of a basket of jumpers at a second hand shop near her home, and she had engaged another nearby shop to print a huge lion's head on the front. Some of the paint even looked like gold leaf. It was amazing what Muggle technology could do nowadays. She nodded.

"Yes, I found a drawing I really liked and they were able to use a computer to scan it, enlarge it and print it on fabric," Hermione whispered back. Luna's luminous eyes gazed into her own, accepting the explanation without question.

"I think Muggles have a kind of magic of their own," Luna said softly, in that eerily understanding way that she had.

"They do. I sometimes think that's what Voldemort, despite all his pureblood rhetoric, is really afraid of - that one day Muggle magic will overcome ours."

Luna nodded knowingly. Hermione thought they were at the point in their conversation where the Ravenclaw was going to go off the rails with her usual discourse on Wrackspurts or Nargles, but they were interrupted when Professor Flitwick burst into the corridor.

"Death Eaters!" he gasped out as he approached. "Death Eaters in the castle! Death Eaters at Hogwarts!" Hermione wasn't sure he even noticed them as he ran past their alcove, flicked his wand at Snape's door and ran inside. Alarmed, the two girls stood and sidled toward the now open office. They could hear Professor Flitwick quite clearly.

"Severus! Come quickly! Death Eaters have breached the castle's defenses and there is a battle at the base of the Astronomy Tower. Minerva sent me to . . . "

There was a quick gasp and then a dull thud and suddenly Professor Snape strode into the corridor, black robes swirling about him. He turned quickly in the direction from which Professor Flitwick had come and nearly ran the two girls over.

"Miss Lovegood, Miss . . . Granger, it is fortunate that you are here," he said smoothly, his eyes cold and piercing black as always, especially in the dim light cast by the corridor sconces. Professor Snape's face had always been a source of curiosity to Hermione. He was the most stoic man she had ever met, rarely showing any emotion at all. His black, black eyes were always flat and cold, unless someone messed up in Potions and the glare they could produce would wither a student on the spot. She sensed he had been able to smile at one time, but now, instead, he always seemed to quash that tendency which produced his trademark smirk. Another unusual thing about him - his voice grew quieter the angrier he became. With one exception, of course. At the end of her third year when he had caught them in the Shrieking Shack with Professor Lupin and what everyone at the time thought was the mass murderer Sirius Black. He had become unhinged with rage, behavior Hermione never would have expected from Professor Snape. Everyone has their limits, she supposed.

But now something odd happened. His eyes flicked down to her jumper and when he looked back up, those eyes seemed to glow. He stared at her with the softest expression she had ever seen on his face. She shifted uncomfortably and that seemed to snap him out of his brief reverie.

"Professor Flitwick has collapsed in my office. Quickly - attend to him. I will assist in securing the castle." Hermione watched Luna instantly run into the room to help her head of house and then she slowly turned back to the potions master. Feeling uneasy, she drew her wand, but now his eyes seemed sad. She saw his lips purse and the severe face she knew best snapped back in place.

"Miss Granger, you will obey me or suffer the consequences."

The abrupt change in his demeanor prompted a slight frown on Hermione's face, but then she nodded and turned to follow Luna. She had barely taken two steps in the direction of Professor Snape's office when something slammed into her back with tremendous force. Her wand went flying and she pitched forward. Her surroundings seemed to shift as she fell toward the very solid stone floor. She put her hands out to catch herself, trying to prevent a complete face plant as the floor rushed upward. But as she did so the flagstones changed to cobblestones, the walls of the castle corridor dissolved and the light from the sconces, dim as they were, snuffed out, plunging her into nearly complete darkness. She hit the ground hard taking the brunt of her fall on the heels of her palms and her, now, aching knees. Rolling onto her side as the pain shot up her arms and legs she wondered what the hell had happened.

She could barely see her hand in front of her face but there was just enough light to discern that she wasn't in Hogwarts anymore. The cobblestones beneath her were damp and it smelled of rain. As she looked around, she realized it was sprinkling lightly, so she must be outside. A solid wall was next to her and she shakily put her hand on it to support an effort at standing up. Dusting off her knees - they were going to be quite sore until she could find some bruise paste - and rubbing her aching palms, she peered about. It looked like she was in some kind of alley and it was so narrow it would probably be as gloomy during the day as it was right now with rain and nightfall. The buildings, wedged tightly together as if huddling close for protection, were shabby and unkempt. Then she noticed a few windows were barely illuminated by candlelight, magically tinged vermillion. Although she had never been here before, she suddenly realized where she was.

"Merlin help me!" she muttered, "It's the red light district of Knockturn Alley. How in hades did I end up here?" She immediately cast about for her wand, deciding it would not be a good idea to roam around the most dangerous part of wizarding London without protection. She tried several times to Summon it wandlessly, but nothing happened. Soon she was back on her hands and knees trying to feel about for that very important stick of wood. She heard hinges creak and a dim pool of light stretched toward her.

"And what have we here?" a gruff voice said from the doorway closest to where she was kneeling. Too late! She got to her feet as fast as she could, but not quite fast enough. The owner of the gruff voice, and apparently a couple of his pals, took the several steps across the alley and had her surrounded in an instant, wands drawn.

"Well, aren't you a lovely one?" Gruff Voice sneered. She could smell the alcohol on the man's breath, no surprise there, but that wasn't as nauseating as the stink of the fellow himself. She drew her head back attempting to avoid the reek that wafted off him and bumped it on the wall behind her.

"What? Not good enough for you, witch?" The disgusting man demanded. "You just have to get to know me better, you do," his snicker was joined in chorus by his companions. He reached out, grabbed the front of her jeans and pulled her close. She tried a right hook to his jaw, but he slapped her wrist away, deftly deflecting the blow. He slung one arm around her shoulders, pinning her arms to her side.

"Let go of me, you letch," she growled at him and tried to maneuver into a position to kick or knee him. He grabbed her jaw and forced his mouth on hers.

"I don't think so," a familiar velvety voice said. She felt her assailant stiffen and start to fall over, taking her with him. But then a firm hand took hold of her arm and the unconscious man was shoved away. She was pulled a few feet down the alley, until she cleared the pile of unconscious bodies. Wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve, and trying desperately not to vomit, she allowed her rescuer to guide her along the narrow street.

"Are you okay?"

"Y-yes, thank you, Professor Snape, but I don't understand. Why did you bring us here? There are Death Eaters at Hogwarts. We have to get back as soon as possible."

"Professor?" Snape queried, surprise obvious in his voice. "Death Eaters at Hogwarts?" He added very quietly. His hand on her elbow tightened until it was almost painful and he forced her around to face him. "What do you know of the Dark Lord's plans?" He hissed, inches from her face.

Hermione was sorely confused. She was disoriented at being transported out of Hogwarts, which should have been impossible as far as she had been informed. She was still shaky from the distasteful encounter with the now unconscious overgrown alley rats and, other than saving her from harm once again, Professor Snape's behavior was distinctly out of character. She had never known him to even speak of Voldemort, let alone ask _her_ questions about him. He knew very well that she could not know anything about what Voldemort was scheming.

"I - I don't know anything about . . . _his_ . . . plans." She couldn't wrap her mind around this situation. "But Professor, the Death Eaters! We have to get back. You have to help the Order protect the castle!"

"Why in Merlin's name would I want to help the Order?" he snarled at her.

"You've been helping the Order for years!" she snarled back, to her surprise. Why was he acting so oddly? She tried to yank her arm from his grasp, but that just made him dig his fingers into the flesh around her elbow. Her arm was starting to ache. "Let go of me!"

"You have to answer a few questions first, witch," he growled and continued dragging her up the alley. "How do you know who I am?" Although it was too dark to clearly see his face, his voice was cold and quiet and she knew what that meant.

"What are you talking about? I've been your student for 6 years now." Hermione said. "How can you not know me?" Something had gone seriously awry. Could he have been injured, perhaps a concussion, when they were transported from Hogwarts? "Professor are you feeling okay? Did you . . . hit your head . . . when we landed in the alley?" What happened next made Hermione absolutely certain that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

He laughed.

"P-Professor Snape?" she stammered. He took a sharp left and opened the door to a tiny, decrepit pub. What little paint was left on the exterior was peeling and the windows were so filthy they were nearly opaque. The damp, tacky sign on the door read _The Silver Stiletto_. He shoved her through the entryway and followed after, still gripping her elbow.

The interior was a bit brighter than the illumination from the windows had let on, but not by much. Professor Snape steered her toward a dark booth at the back of the establishment and maneuvered her down onto the questionably cushioned bench. Retaining a firm grip on her arm, he flicked his wand and Hermione recognized its effects immediately.

" _Muffliato?"_ Hermione whispered, astonished. " _How do you know that spell?_ " This night was getting more bizarre by the moment. Harry had found _Muffliato_ scribbled in the margins of his borrowed _Advanced Potion-Making_ textbook, a spell that she had never been able to find in any other book; a spell no one else knew.

Professor Snape went very still. The pub, and particularly the booth where she now sat, was dark enough that everything was in shadow. Dampened by the rain, his black hair clung to his face obscuring most of it even if there had been enough light to see by. He towered over her, his black robes making him simply a darker shadow amongst the many that colonized the run-down environs.

"How do _you_ know what that spell is?" he said coldly. Slowly, very slowly, the pieces fell together in her mind. There is only one other person who would have the knowledge to cast that particular spell.

"You're the Half-Blood Prince," Hermione said, barely able to push the words out of her mouth.

"How in Merlin's name can you possibly know _that_?" he demanded. " _Who_ are you?" He released her arm and took the bench opposite. In an almost offhand manner he ran his hand through his hair, pulling the damp, lank mass away from his face. Just at that moment, the sconce behind her flared and his features came into sharp focus. She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth.

* * *

Snape stared at the witch sitting across from him. He was now wholly convinced that he had never seen her before in his life, so how on earth could she know so much about him? His mind shifted into overdrive. It was imperative that he find out what was going on. Lord Voldemort's plans were in serious jeopardy if this slip of a girl could suss them out. He quickly parsed the information that she had volunteered since he had intervened and dispatched her assailants in the alley. There were only two possibilities.

Was the witch the best Seer the wizarding world had ever known? It seemed unlikely that he would have had the opportunity to overhear prophecies from two genuine Seers on two separate occasions. Indeed, that would have been exceedingly rare. The first prophecy had come from the Trelawney witch during her interview with Dumbledore. Although he had only overheard part of it, the woman had seemed in a trance when it was given. From what he knew of Divination, that was the normal method of delivery for a prophecy.

This girl was different. She had definitely not been in a trance, yet she had told him things that only he and Lord Voldemort knew of. It was highly unlikely the Dark Lord had let slip his schemes in any situation where this witch could have overheard them and Snape was absolutely certain that he had not disclosed one word about his task to anyone.

But there was another scenario. It was even more far-fetched, but the comment the girl had made about being his student for 6 years lead him to believe it might be possible. If she had found a way to travel back in time - that could explain how she would be so familiar with him and he would not know her.

The Ministry had recently found several ancient artifacts that dealt with the mechanics of time and one such discovery was a cache of what were being called Time-Turners. Lord Voldemort was interested in this line of inquiry and one of Snape's assignments was to find out as much as he could about the research on-going in the Department of Mysteries involving the manipulation of time. The time-turners, from what he had been able to gather, were relatively limited, allowing the user to travel back only a few hours or a day or so. Not entirely helpful for what the Dark Lord was envisioning. But Snape continued gathering information about the activities there and, in particular, _where_ the Ministry was searching to find more artifacts. And now he possibly had proof of extended time travel in the form of the witch sitting before him. No doubt Lord Voldemort would be quite pleased when Snape turned her over to him. _If_ she were the real deal. He ran his hand through his wet hair.

The sconce behind the girl flared momentarily and, reflexively, his eyes flicked up to look at the distraction. Snape heard the girl gasp and his gaze snapped back to her face. The next words out of the witch's mouth confirmed his second hypothesis.

"Professor! Y-You're so . . . _young!_ "

Snape couldn't quite quash the smile that played across his lips, his deductions verified for the most part. There was one more particular he needed to collect in order to make a final ratification of his assessment. He locked his eyes onto hers and, using a rudimentary level of Legilmency, watched for whatever might surface there. Indeed, this was the only reason he had dragged her into the _Silver Stiletto_ in the first place. And he found what he was looking for. The girl had a vestigial understanding that she was no longer in her own time. He would have continued his perusal of her mind, picking up any stray facts he found on the surface - a pub was not the place to perform a comprehensive Legilmency - but, to his surprise, she tore her eyes from his.

"I know what you are trying to do," she said flatly, looking down at the table between them. "I know that you are a Legilimens."

"No matter," he said coolly, though again feeling uncomfortable about how much this witch knew about him. "I have what I wanted." He stood and once again took her by the arm. This time her resistance was considerably increased, but he was much stronger and magical enhancements were not needed to haul her out of the pub. The establishment's clientele was such that no one took particular notice of his companion's attempts to free herself from his grip - it was just another evening in the red light district.

They exited back into the alley where the rain was now coming down in earnest. The girl struggled against his manhandling, her feet scrabbling on the wet cobblestones, trying to find leverage to wrench her arm from his grasp. He increased her imbalance by pushing her back and then yanking her to the side and up to his face.

"I am not beyond using the Imperious Curse on you, witch," he growled.

"Miss Granger. You always call me Miss Granger."

"Whatever. Imagine everything that would come tumbling out of your mouth if I favored you with that particular spell? In fact, that is not such a bad idea." He lifted his wand to her face.

"Okay, okay," she conceded and she settled down, acquiescing to walk quietly by his side. He still did not release her.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"The Dark Lord will be very interested in how you traveled into the past . . . Miss Granger," he said silkily. "I believe he can be found, at the present hour, taking dinner at Malfoy Manor. That is where we are going."

* * *

"But you can't do that, Professor," she said quietly, furiously forcing her mind to think itself out of this mess. He had assessed the situation nearly as quickly as she had and had come to the same conclusion. Although always admiring Professor Snape's keen intelligence, it had just become a liability. She needed to stall him so that she would have more time to piece events together; more time to figure a way out of this unacceptable situation.

"He will Legilimens me and find out that you are spying for Professor Dumbledore," she said, hoping that would give this young Severus Snape pause.

"All the better, as that was the Dark Lord's original plan. I was to pretend to defect to the Order and volunteer to spy for Dumbledore. Unfortunately, the old geezer had already hired a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this year," he said and shifted his grip slightly. That allowed some blood to ease back into her arm, which was becoming noticeably numb. "Lord Voldemort will be pleased to know that his plan is going to work. You will be able to provide us information as to when that will be."

She bit her lower lip. How much could she tell him about the future? She had to balance securing her safety with giving up information about what was to come. The consequences weighed heavily on her heart. Of course, if Professor Snape - she couldn't think of him as anything else but her teacher, despite his apparent youth - if Professor Snape took her to Voldemort, that evil wizard would strip her mind of any information she had about what was going to happen. He would learn of major events that would benefit him beyond his wildest imaginings. With that eventuality staring her in the face, she felt justified in giving Professor Snape more information. Her future potions teacher had switched sides once. What was it that had caused him to defect and give his loyalty to Dumbledore? Perhaps she could induce that change again? Right now would be a good time for that to happen.

"Volde . . . the Dark Lord . . . knows about a prophecy that foretells his downfall."

"Yes, he does. I'm the one who relayed that prophecy directly to him," Professor Snape said and ducked into an even smaller, and very deserted, alleyway, dragging her behind.

"Y-You? _You_ told him about the prophecy that got the Potters killed?" she blurted out, stunned at this piece of news. Her stomach churned and her limbs felt weak. Professor Snape had truly been a Death Eater in his youth. He was entirely on board with Voldemort's evil plans. Real fear clutched at her insides for the first time. She was in the presence of a very dangerous man who was on his way to present her as a sacrificial gift to an evil psychopath.

"The Potters?" he queried, halting abruptly in his tracks. He turned to confront her and she could feel his warm breath on her face, even if she couldn't see his. His reaction gave her hope.

"Yes, the Potters! Your master murdered . . . murders . . . both Lily and James Potter, leaving their son an orphan." Biting back her next impulse, she decided babbling about Voldemort getting killed in the process was not her best strategy at this juncture. "They were in your year, weren't they? You knew them? Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"They were given multiple chances to join us and they refused. Their lives, or their deaths, are their own responsibility," he snarled and continued pulling her down the alleyway.

What could she possibly say to this man to keep him from turning her over to Voldemort? Even if she could free herself from his grasp, she knew he'd have a dozen curses heading her way before she could gain two steps - she'd seen him duel Lockhart and watched him, fascinated, as he taught the N.E.W.T. level Defense Against the Dark Arts class this past year. If anything, he would probably be faster now, in his youth. And she didn't have a wand.

She needed to think of something that he would not want Voldemort to know. Something that would anger the evil wizard, something . . . oh . . .

"It is said that the Dark Lord is the most powerful Legilimens that the wizarding world has ever known," she began.

"That is true," Professor Snape said flatly.

"Then that means you are the most powerful Occlumens that has ever lived," she continued, measured and clear - she didn't want him to miss a single word. He didn't. He slowly came to a halt.

"I cannot imagine _any_ scenario where I would divulge that information to another living soul," he said very, very softly.

"You told Dumbledore."

"I betray Lord Voldemort? Why would I do that?"

"Only Dumbledore knows why. He trusts you beyond reason; beyond any counsel," she hesitated. This had to be good. "Perhaps you betray Lord Voldemort because he betrays you?" The rain was letting up and in its passing, the air itself seemed to be holding its breath. Damp and sodden, not a sound stalked the alleyway in that moment. She pressed her advantage.

"In my time he is becoming more and more mentally unstable. He kills for the sake of killing - without cause and without reason. He tortures indiscriminately - even his own followers. His paranoia knows no bounds. Surely you have marked the early signs of this behavior - you must have seen it with your own eyes?" Now for the nail in the coffin. "There is no tale you can spin that will ever persuade him to trust you again. When he rips that knowledge from my mind, when he discovers that you are a better Occlumens than he is a Legilimens, your life will be forfeit."

He loomed over her. In the dark, she could not see his face, those black eyes. And that meant he couldn't see hers either, to assure himself if she was telling the truth. Her words alone would have to suffice.

Suddenly, he swung his drenched black traveling cloak around her and with the same movement wrapped his arm about her shoulders, pinning her to his side. He used the momentum of that action to pivot both of them around his heel and a loud pop echoed in her ears as they Disapparated. As darkness jumped at them, she felt the familiar, uncomfortable sensation as if being squeezed through a tube.

And it felt like all hope was being squeezed out of her at the same time. He was taking her to Voldemort.


	2. Chapter 2: Spinners End

Chapter Two: Spinners End

* * *

Except, he didn't. They were standing, dripping, in the middle of a small, dark and musty room. By the vague glow of a failing, embered fire, she could see that every vertical surface was lined with bookshelves and every bookshelf crammed with books, except for where the fireplace was set into the wall. Oddly, no door was to be seen. A couple of tattered armchairs, three mismatched end tables and a small, shabby couch were crowded about them as water from their soaked clothing plashed onto the threadbare carpet underfoot. He dropped his arm from her shoulders and took a step back.

"This is _not_ Malfoy Manor," Hermione said, sudden relief made her heart pound loud enough she thought he must surely hear it. Could it be possible? Somehow she had gotten through to him?

"It is not."

He was standing silently by her side and she could feel him staring at her. She shivered, unsure if it was because she was cold or because of his looming presence. Almost as if reading her mind, Professor Snape flicked his wand at the hearth. The ebbing fire flared, crackling loudly, and instantly filled the room with warmth and a bit more light. Then he flicked his wand at her and she tried not to flinch. The rainwater misted away and she was dry.

"Thank you, Professor," she said, starting to feel safe again. He ignored her and turned his wand on himself, performing the same drying spell. The illumination from the fire allowed her the opportunity to study his face more critically. As always, it was pale, but his features seemed softer than the Severus Snape of her potion class nightmares. Perhaps that was because he was younger? But his eyes were cold, flat, his jaw set and she was well acquainted with that expression. Her brief sense of relief evaporated as quickly as the water he had spelled out of their clothing.

"I suppose we need to . . . talk," she said hesitantly.

"Yes, Miss Granger, we do," he said. "But not now."

The last thing she remembered was taking a jet of scarlet light to the face.

* * *

As soon as he administered the Stunning curse, Snape grabbed the girl's arm and guided her falling body down onto his couch, ensuring her head didn't hit its wooden frame. He lifted her legs and stretched her out full length before adding an Incarcerous spell. Ropes flew from the tip of his wand and wrapped themselves tightly about his captive. That should hold her until he got back.

Taking several minutes to cast anti-Apparition spells upon the dwelling, he then turned on his heel and flicked his wand at the door that was disguised as a bookshelf. It creaked open and he strode through. Another flick closed and locked it securely behind him. Even if the girl awoke and could free those bindings, she would not be able to get out of this room, nor could anyone else assist her from outside of it. When he had come upon her in the alley it had been obvious that she had been wandless, so he was confident she would be there when he returned.

The narrow hallway led to the kitchen and he passed through it and the back door into his tiny garden. He cultivated a few hardy herbs here - to be used in his potions - but only those that could make their own way in the world since he rarely had time to tend them. He Disapparated, heading back to Knockturn Alley.

It was his habit, before conferring with an informant, to arrive early and covertly survey the area where they had agreed to meet. He had been in the process of such surveillance when he had rescued the girl from the alley scum that had accosted her. At this point, he was not sure it had been a prudent move and castigated himself for getting involved in the first place. But if she had found someone else - someone in the Order - he was sure she would have voluntarily divulged every bit of information she knew. If she had been captured by another Death Eater, she was right – it would have meant his death. It gave him an odd feeling that if he hadn't found her, it would have been better for him if she _had_ gone to the Order.

But that uncomfortable perception had been reoccurring with disheartening regularity over the past few months. The girl was right about another point of fact – the Dark Lord _was_ becoming erratic and irrational and that kind of behavior disturbed Snape no matter who it came from. However, for right now, he had to set this conundrum aside and focus on the task at hand.

The Dragon Flame, a tiny pub even grimier and more light-bereft than the Silver Stiletto, was one of a half dozen places that Snape used for clandestine meetings with his informants. Most of those informants were paid, courtesy of the Dark Lord; a few labored under an artfully cast Imperius curse. The Ministry toady he was meeting tonight was the former. He slunk unobtrusively through the door and headed toward a greasy little table with two mismatched chairs. Despite his delay due to rescuing Miss Granger, he was still there a bit ahead of time and the annoying woman that was his snitch had not yet arrived.

His stoolie was not one he would have chosen himself – she was too prone to flattery – but the Dark Lord had insisted. Even though she had been three years ahead of him at Hogwarts and a member of his own house, Snape found the woman a simpering, self-aggrandizing incompetent. Except for the unhappy chance that she was employed by the Improper Use of Magic Office at the Ministry and was highly susceptible to manipulation because of her greed, he would preferred to have given the witch a wide berth. As it was, he suspected that by the end of this little operation, he would have to Obliviate her. At minimum.

And then the subject of his contemplation swept into the pub and, trailing an air of entitlement, made her way to the dingy corner where Snape sat. Although he had tried, and failed, to convince her that such behavior drew attention to their rendezvous, at least he had persuaded her to dispense with the outlandishly colored robes she preferred. Basic black was always the best camouflage.

"Dolores," Snape said, as the witch pulled the other chair away from the table. He covertly cast a Muffliato spell to enhance their privacy.

"Snape," Dolores Umbridge huffed, obviously annoyed that he had chosen to stay seated at her approach. As she sat down, the stench of cat hoarder roiled across the table and assaulted his sensitive potioneer's nostrils. _You're a witch, damn it, how hard can it be to keep your filthy creatures clean?_ He had nothing against cats, just lazy owners.

Snape nodded to the barkeep and held up two fingers. The grizzled man poured a couple of firewhiskeys and brought them to the table, their contents sloshing a bit as he set the glasses down. Umbridge's penchant for alcohol was obvious. Guzzle was the polite term for the way she attacked her drink.

He took a sip of his own firewhiskey and observed the witch. They had met twice before and he suspected that she had purposely become tipsy in order to coerce him into escorting her home. That wasn't going to happen tonight. Sure enough, she downed the first glass and looked askance at him for a second.

"Not tonight, Dolores," he said dryly. She leaned forward, frowning.

"But I have some _very_ important information for you, Snape."

"So let's hear it and _then_ I'll buy you another drink."

"The Time-Turners can only go a few hours into the past," she almost squealed, putting a hand to her mouth.

"We've already paid you for that information," he said curtly. "You're wasting my time."

"Let me rephrase," she retorted. "The Time-Turners go a few hours _only_ into the past. Access to the future is blocked."

"If the effect of meeting one's self during time travel is as deleterious as they claim, then one certainly wouldn't want to travel into the future lest an unexpected meeting with one's self occurs," Snape mused over the information she had divulged. He wasn't sure it was even worth another firewhiskey, let alone the galleons he had brought to pay her. She would have to sweeten the pot to earn her fee this time. "So I reasoned that out with no input from you, Dolores."

"The Department of Mysteries thought it was important," she objected.

"Why is the Department of Mysteries involved?"

"That will cost you another drink, Severus," she said with an attempt at coyness that turned his stomach.

Grudgingly, he caught the barkeep's eye, nodded and the grimy man quickly brought another firewhiskey, setting it down on their table. Umbridge reached for it, but Snape grabbed her wrist.

"Why is the Department of Mysteries involved?" he repeated the question.

"The tablet found with the Time-Turners has been translated." She pulled out of his grasp. "Apparently there were only twelve of them made. And there is mention of a magical gate that was also created."

Snape was curious and relieved at the same time. Curious as to what this gate was and why it was mentioned in the translation and relieved that the artifacts had been turned over to the Department of Mysteries. That meant Dolores Umbridge was now useless to him – the secrecy surrounding that particular department in the Ministry of Magic was notoriously impenetrable. There was no way she had the authority or contacts to secure any more information and he was now shut of her. And he had just saved the Dark Lord a dozen galleons if not a couple of firewhiskeys.

Under the table, he pulled his wand.

* * *

He moved silently along the dark alleyway, the hem of his billowing robes skimming the damp cobbles. The memory spell he had used on his now obsolete informant had been subtle enough that she would end up with a headache but which she would probably attribute to having one too many.

Halting only a few feet from where he had first seen the girl, he wordlessly cast a Summoning spell. Suspecting she had been searching for her wand and then been ambushed, he had decided to retrace his steps to see if he could find it. The Summoning spell was unproductive.

Continuing on his way, he eased out of the somber environs of Knockturn Alley and into the relatively festive main way of Diagon Alley. He had one more stop to make before returning home and dealing with the captive on his couch. When the bright lights of Flourish and Blotts beckoned, he ducked through the doorway.

* * *

Snape Apparated to the tiny yard at the back of his house. Disillusioning himself, he spelled the door open, entered the kitchen, and spelled it closed again. As he strode down the hall, he ran a quick drying spell over his body, listening intently for any sounds coming from his library. There were none to be had. Good. The Stunning spell he had cast on her had been a rather strong one and he expected she would still be out cold.

Unlocking and pushing open the door, he soundlessly crossed the room and took the chair directly opposite the couch upon which his captive lay. She was still bound tightly and was in the exact position as he had left her. He got comfortable, stretching his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles, and running his hand through his damp hair, sweeping the black mass out of his face. He flicked his wand at her and wordlessly cast a weak reviving spell. He wanted her to wake without knowing he was there. Now he would watch.

It was an incredible tale, her journey back into time. He was not sure he would have believed it if the Time-Turners hadn't been recently unearthed and their function discovered. The odd thing was, Miss Granger seemed to have sussed out that she had time traveled at about the same time he had figured it out. Was her journey back into time an accident? Or was she faking it? Could she be that good of an actress? He didn't think so. There was no way she could have known he was an Occlumens. He had never told anyone. The only way she could have found out about his ability is if sometime in the future he had indeed divulged his secret to someone. But Dumbledore? He could not imagine any incentive that would prompt him to expose his ability to that man.

She moaned.

* * *

Her first thought, before she even had a chance to open her eyes, was that somehow a bludger had taken up residence in her skull. There was a thunderous pounding in her ears and the slightest movement of her head made it louder. The bastard had aimed right for the middle of her forehead. She knew that even more pain, from shards of light piercing her pupils, would result if she opened her eyes, yet it had to be done. There.

Well, not as bad as she had supposed, thank Merlin for the dim lighting. She slowly turned her head a few times, hoping the bludger would take its leave. It refused. Then she found that her head was the only thing she _could_ move. Her first inclination was toward fury, but she knew from experience that anger rarely solved any problem. Taking a deep breath she forced her mind to calm itself so that she could concoct a way to get out of this mess.

No wand and no real ability to cast spells without one. Check. That left her with only mechanical means to use. She tested every inch of her body, starting at her toes and working up to her shoulders, trying to find some give in the ropes that bound her or someway to free a hand. Nope, none. He was annoyingly thorough. Could she roll off of the couch? Possibly, but what then?

She looked about the room. It was . . . lovely. Shabby, but lovely. So many books! She couldn't really read the titles from where she was, but recognized a few distinctive coverings and realized most of the shelved tomes would be for research. The fragrance of old parchment wafted through the air and she breathed deeply. Other than the extravagant quantity of books, the room was quite Spartan, utilitarian. Although the couch upon which she lay looked a bit ratty, it was actually quite comfortable and was the main reason she did not further contemplate rolling off onto the floor, of which amenity she was doubtful.

So the best plan that she could formulate at the moment would be to lull Professor Snape, when he returned, into lowering his guard and making her escape as soon as possible.

But then what? Where would she go? She didn't even know _when_ she was. Last year, _her_ last year, Dolores Umbridge had interrogated Professor Snape in their potions class, and Hermione had overheard him say he had been a teacher at Hogwarts for 14 years. Since he wasn't teaching there _now_ , she had traveled at least 15 years into the past.

Was she born yet, in this time? Were her parents even married yet? Or dating? How old was _this_ Professor Snape? For that matter, how old was _her_ Professor Snape? He looked so young in this time. In fact, he looked very close to her own age.

If she could escape and somehow make her way to Hogwarts, without her wand, she reminded herself, would Dumbledore believe her story? She would have to figure out something that only Dumbledore would know…right - something that happened probably before she was born. She didn't know Dumbledore well enough to even guess at what evidence might convince him – even if he wanted to be. She faced the truth head on – she had nowhere to go.

But first things first. She had to get out of here. Maybe she could try to sit up? If she could put a bit of weight on one hip – like that – maybe she could pivot her legs about and lever her body upright.

Oh, her head hurt.

* * *

Snape needed more information and his only source was the rope-cocooned girl in front of him. But how? As a highly proficient Legilimens, he could force that information from her, but what could he do with it when he got it? He would not be able to share it with the Dark Lord without divulging his source and to do so would put his own secret in jeopardy. As intelligence for which he could be rewarded, it had no value, and that worked against forcing the information from the girl.

Would knowing how the future played out be helpful to him personally? Practically, it would only be useful up until the point where he employed that knowledge to change the future. After that it would be ineffectual if the resulting revisions produced a radical deviation from her timeline. But force it out of her? That method would allow access to the major events that the girl thought important and would block possible, much more subtle, information that Snape might use to nudge things the way he wanted them to go without introducing a complete revision of the future. In that case, any information he got from her might possibly last longer and therefore might be much more useful if he could coax her into giving it willingly or trick her into divulging it accidentally.

Miss Granger had proved herself intelligent enough to realize that anything she told him might change the future as she knew it and that would make her a reluctant informant from the start. And after he obtained everything she could give? She was a terrible, terrible danger to him. He could neither let her find her way to the Order nor get captured by Death Eaters.

He absent-mindedly rolled his wand between his fingers, thinking hard. He had no choice – she could not leave this house, he decided. At least - not alive.

Just then, the girl shifted her position slightly and then attempted to sit up while bound with his ropes. This didn't have a chance of working under any circumstance and she immediately slipped off the couch and thumped to the floor. He heard a muffled grunt from under that mass of hair. Maybe she wasn't as intelligent as he had given her credit for.

"Oh, great," she muttered and he couldn't help but laugh at her predicament.

"So you _are_ here," she said quietly. "I suspected that might be the case, though laughing while Disillusioned isn't very Slytherin of you."

"Depends on why I laughed," he retorted. He pointed his wand lazily at the heap in front of the couch and the ropes evaporated into thin air. Attempting to maintain as much dignity as she could, considering her situation, she climbed to her feet, pushed her hair out of her face and smoothed her jumper into a more presentable configuration. A golden glint caught his eye and he flicked his wand again, lighting the sconces in the room.

"What in Merlin's name is that?" he growled as the additional light revealed a golden lion's head on her red jumper and he recognized the image.

Bloody hell. She was a Gryffindor.


	3. Chapter 3: The Gryffindor

Chapter Three: The Gryffindor

* * *

Snape watched as the girl warily eyed the ostensibly empty chair where he sat. She glanced down at the image on her jumper, glinting in the now sconce-lit room.

"A lion's head, sir. I was sorted into Gryffindor." she said, rubbing the feeling back into her arms. Annoyance at having been shot with a Stunning curse and left tied up on the couch seemed to be minimal, probably due to the enormity of the situation she found herself in. He removed his Disillusionment spell, indicated the couch and watched her carefully. She averted her eyes and sat down. Moments passed.

"Well, then . . . talk," he said.

"Sir?" she queried.

"You said we needed to talk. Now is your chance."

"It has since occurred to me that the less I say the better."

"Indeed," he retorted. A brief smile curved her lips. His eyes narrowed and he scowled at her.

"Pardon me, Professor," she said, her smile broadening a bit and looking at him tentatively. "That is a word you use frequently. In fact, you still wear all black and have the same haircut and identical scowl, minus only a few lines in your face."

"Do I?" he asked quietly, attempting to encourage the direction the conversation was going without being too obvious.

"Yes, sir," she confirmed, a bit of enthusiasm creeping into her manner. "Your voice is exactly the same – deep, smooth and precise, and which you use to great effect controlling the students in your classes." She looked down again, somewhat flustered, and Snape could have sworn that her cheeks had pinked up a bit. Why would that be?

"So other than a few lines on my face, I'm exactly like your Professor Snape?" he prompted.

"Well, you're younger, obviously," she continued, shaking her head, soft brown hair falling about her shoulders. "But there _is_ something different about you – can't quite put my finger on it." She looked at his legs stretched out casually in front of him, booted ankles crossed. Her face brightened and she glanced up at him, eyes gleaming. "I know! My Professor Snape never seems to relax."

"So you're telling me I turn into an uptight old man?" he said, smirking.

"Apparently so," she said, her smile dazzling. He couldn't resist reciprocating. And her eyes grew wide. "And I have never, _ever_ seen you smile." Hers faded as she watched him and a sadness crept into her warm brown eyes. "I've always wondered how you became so. . . "

". . . and I'm a git too?" he queried sarcastically. "Lovely." Well, he had her talking about the future Professor Snape, now he just needed to nudge her toward future events. "Perhaps my students have provoked me beyond endurance?"

"Dunderheads. That's your pet name for us when we mess up, which happens with frustrating frequency. And not just for you. I get annoyed with some of them as well."

"The Dark Arts are very dangerous. Fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, and indestructible – takes skill and focus," he said. "Goofing off during class isn't an option."

"That's essentially what you told us our very first day!" she exclaimed. "You were . . . are . . . um . . . will be . . . the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we ever had. Have."

In her enthusiasm, she forgot to avert her eyes this time, to avoid his Legilmency. The profound – and genuine – respect and esteem he found in her gaze truly shocked him. All this admiration? For him? Well, for the future him, technically, but she didn't seem to be differentiating between the two at the moment. He stared at her, incredulous, his motives suddenly derailing.

Then she caught herself and looked away. He cursed his lapse - he had probably just ruined this opportunity to get her to talk. He reached into his robes and pulled out the purchase he had made at Flourish and Blotts, leaned forward and tossed it onto the couch next to her. She was going to find out eventually and maybe she would say something by way of exclamation. 1Tentatively she reached out to pick it up, carefully unfolding the layers of very thin parchment. He watched her eyes scan the front page until she found it - today's date. Her eyes flicked quickly up to his.

"I know that you understand my predicament, Professor. Even telling you how far I have traveled into the past could not only endanger my life but profoundly affect the outcome of the battle against You-Know-Who."

"You know who? Are you referring to the Dark Lord?"

She pursed her lips and a vague impression of consternation passed over her face. _She already believes she's said too much_ , he thought. He would not get much more out of her this session.

"I see," he said. She didn't trust him. Understandable. He began rolling his wand between his fingers again. "So what do I do with you now?"

* * *

 _Good question, that_ , thought Hermione. The date on the Daily Prophet stunned her when she read it: August 17, 1979. Her parents were married and her mother was expecting their only daughter, their only child, in 33 days. She would not be able to approach them for help. She had traveled 18 years into the past - her parents did not yet know about magic, about Hogwarts, about Voldemort. The changes she could introduce into her own future life by interacting with them at this point would be unavoidable, however inadvertent, and could have immeasurable consequences. She knew he would not let her leave. And she knew she had nowhere to go. Better that she answer this question than allow him to devise his own solution.

Being such an inept liar, she would have to stick to the truth – he would recognize a lie. Professor Snape – _her_ Professor Snape – even at his nastiest, had always protected his students from danger. This Snape, well, she couldn't be sure of his instincts in this regard, not at this point. Although she didn't know what had converted him to Dumbledore's cause, she was certain that whatever had sparked that change of heart had not yet occurred. His actions earlier this night had amply demonstrated his allegiance. She had just barely been able to divert his intention to bring her to Voldemort.

But she strongly suspected he wanted to find out what she knew about the future, though he now seemed reluctant to force information from her. Was he just too Slytherin for that or was there another reason? She had always been under the impression that Professor Snape was not afraid of anything – could this Snape be wary of what the future may hold? Particularly after she had revealed his impending betrayal of the Dark Lord? She had no way to divine his motivations at this point, but she suspected that if he did want information, then he would be amenable to having her around. She let her thoughts simmer together for a moment and then took a deep breath.

"I know that you are a formidable Legilimens in your own right," she began. "But how much of the future do you really want to know? Obviously you're alive when I leave my time but any information I divulge to you now might change that." She took another slow, deep breath. "My Professor Snape always protected his students from danger. I've watched him . . . you . . . ," she said pointedly, ". . . save the life of a student many, many times, and not just in the classroom. I can't believe that you would not do so now, because that's the kind of man I know you are." She drew on her inner Gryffindor and looked him in the eye, so that he could judge the veracity of her statements. "Since I have no idea how I got here, chances are I won't be able to get back. And I have nowhere else to go. As a professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, albeit in the future, I petition your protection as a student of that same school."

Professor Snape smirked and the expression was so familiar to Hermione that the tension knotting her stomach eased a bit, although she was left with the uneasy feeling that she was being maneuvered into a situation that favored him.

"Requested in typically dramatic Gryffindor style," he said dryly.

"Perhaps," she replied. "But accurate, nonetheless."

"I have to keep you away from the Dark Lord for my own benefit, if not yours, as you have so astutely pointed out earlier this evening," he said softly. "But that could be a relatively simple task." He stared at his wand, rolling it between his fingers again. She watched him for a moment, suppressing the urge to embroider her argument any further.

Sudden, loud banging on his front door broke her reverie and instinct seized her. She bolted for the entrance to the hallway. As with an impending accident, time seemed to slow. She headed for the front door and the hallway lit up with red light emanating from the room full of books. The red of a Stunner, not the sickly green of a Killing Curse. Hope stirred; killing her was not his intent. Now who was behind the front door? Chances were it would be a Death Eater and not a member of the Order, but at this point, either would assist her in forcing Professor Snape's hand.

As she reached for the doorknob, she heard his steps behind, pounding across the threadbare carpet toward the hall. One more hurdle - ' _Alohomora_ ' she whispered under her breath, praying she could unlock the door without a wand. Relief washed over her as she heard the lock click. She jerked the door open.

The man that stood there was huge, his black robes swirling in the wind that surged down the street. A faint pool of light, trying to shine from the porch lamp, was bright enough to keep her in shadow.

Death Eater.

"Good evening, sir," she said, desperately trying to keep her breathing even and low after that dash down the hall. "How may I help you?" Gratefully, she heard the footfalls behind her slow.

"Who're you?" the man grunted, his manners either rusty or lacking entirely, and squinted into the darkened doorway. Did she detect an accent? And the man seemed somewhat familiar . . .

"I am Master Snape's new potions apprentice. May I inquire as to your name, sir?"

She felt a sudden tingle, head to toe, as a spell hit her from behind. She stiffened, but did not seem to suffer any ill effects and so continued with her charade. What had he done to her? The sconce above the door flared to life.

"Apprentice?"

A definite accent coupled with astonishment at her pronouncement.

"Yes, sir. Your name, sir? So that I may announce you?"

"Announce me? Are you his butler as well?" Now all the pieces fell into place. His height, bulk, hair, accent. This was . . .

"Igor," Professor Snape said, just over her shoulder, as he stepped up behind her. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

She could breathe a little easier now - he seemed to be going along with her scheme.

"What I have to say is for your ears only, Severus," the big man said.

She dropped her head demurely, not wanting Karkaroff to get a really good look at her face. It would not do for him to recognize her 17 years hence at the Triwizard Cup competition. She turned to Professor Snape.

"Shall I start the next batch of potion, Master Snape?"

He eyed her suspiciously but then gave a curt nod.

"Good evening, sir," she said to Karkaroff and turned and walked back down the hall, praying that the future head of the Durmstrang Institute did not know where Professor Snape's laboratory was located, since she certainly didn't. But there hadn't been another exit from the library that she had noticed and there was only one other entryway available in the hall - straight ahead - and she made a beeline for it, mustering as much confidence as she could. The doorknob turned easily and she stood in a completely dark room.

"Lumos," she said tentatively and closed the door behind her. Happily, a sconce flared to life and she was standing in a tiny, dingy kitchen.

Against the wall opposite was a small sink and a bit of counter that seemed more of an afterthought than design and apparently was used as a prep area. Above the sink was a modest window, sans curtains, that presumably looked out on the backyard, but that was obscured from exploration due to the lightless night beyond. An ancient icebox abutted the counter and next to that contraption was another door. Her first inclination was to bolt out that door and escape, but this idea she put the kibosh to. Where could she go? The black, blustery night where friend or family and therefore refuge was nonexistent? Where all resources, including her wand, would be denied her? She was much better off here, at least until she could formulate a plan that had even the slightest chance of succeeding.

The wall to her right was close up against the jamb of the door from which she had entered and it was blank and unadorned. Immediately adjacent to her left was another door and, if a pantry, choosing to come this direction was a bust. Against the wall beyond this door was a tiny table with one chair and what might pass as a range just next to that. Fingers crossed, she opened what she hoped led to a cellar, complete with potions lab.

The weak light from the kitchen sconce illuminated the first couple of steps and, if there were any more, they plunged into the darkness below. This was promising - a cellar would be the closest mimic of a dungeon that could be found in a private home. A few tentative steps down the staircase and she needed more light.

"Lumos," she whispered again and this time several large sconces ignited and the room beyond flooded with light considered generous for a cellar. Now she easily made her way down the rickety stairs and . . . into Professor Snape's potion lab.

It felt like home. Although the space was much smaller than her Potions classroom back at Hogwarts, the feel of it was balm to her soul. It was organized in a very similar fashion and everything was neat and tidy – just like _her_ Professor Snape required of every student: the central workbench was cleared and scrubbed, the cauldrons and utensils clean and neatly stored on the shelf below. Two walls were lined with shelves crammed with jars, baskets and crocks of ingredients arranged in precise order. The far wall had a counter and a sink and faucet. She breathed in deeply. The heady herbal fragrance also conjured up memories of the hours spent under Professor Snape's guidance during class after class of instruction and formulation.

She paused for a moment to listen. If Professor Snape had brushed off Karkaroff, then she felt certain that he would have caught up with her by now, so perhaps they had gone off somewhere together? That could give her time to actually make a potion. It was simple enough and would only take about 40 minutes, start to finish. But she didn't have a wand. Maybe with a bit more concentration she would be able to ignite and maintain a sufficient brewing flame. Wouldn't hurt to try. And if she could present Professor Snape with a completed potion she might even be able to prove to him she was worth having as an actual apprentice.

Pulling out a #2 copper cauldron from under the workbench, she grabbed a mortar, pestle, stirring rod, silver grater and a 4B measuring scoop and laid out her equipment. She quickly found the common ingredients for the potion and set them next to the cauldron. The bezoar and unicorn horn, rather expensive components of this potion, Professor Snape always kept in an apothecary cabinet . . . she scanned the room – there, next to the counter by the sink and the bezoar was always in the top row, fourth from the left.

As she reached out to open that drawer, the bright light from the sconce above the sink fell across her sleeve and she froze. Her jumper was no longer red! She brought her other arm up and then grabbed the hem, pulled the material forward and looked down at her lovely golden lion head. It was a silver snake on a green background. That must have been the spell she felt hit her from behind as she opened the door for Karkaroff. She felt a bit woozy – would Karkaroff have believed that Professor Snape had selected a Gryffindor as apprentice? Most likely not. She and Professor Snape were now in collusion with the charade she had begun. That was almost a comforting thought.

She pulled open the drawer and hit pay dirt. She noted that the bezoars were all about the same size which she knew was how her Professor Snape selected them and that meant it would be much easier to prorate the other ingredients. She selected one of the darker bezoars, which was better for the potion she was making.

Now unicorn horn. Back home that would be second to the last row, last drawer – score! And just like at Hogwarts, there were two specimens to choose from. She picked one up and turned it to look at the base. A capital letter "M" was carved into the bottom. She put it back and took the other one.

Back at the workbench, she tossed the bezoar into the mortar, picked up the pestle and began powdering the stone. Memories inundated her thoughts. She remembered how difficult she had found making this potion for the first time, not because it was complicated – Polyjuice Potion had been much more so – but because of the precision that Professor Snape had required of his class: what, exactly, was a pinch? At the end of its brewing, this potion would require that quantity of unicorn horn. Professor Snape was death on any student he thought was wasting this very expensive potion ingredient. Hermione had eventually figured out that one light pass, medium pressure, over the silver grater produced precisely what Professor Snape considered one pinch for this particular recipe.

In about forty minutes, as she had calculated, she was looking at a gleaming row of a dozen crystal phials each containing a single dose of _Antidote for Common Poisons_. The cauldron and all the utensils had been scoured, dried and returned to their proper place and the workbench thoroughly scrubbed, just as Professor Snape used to insist upon. But then, just as in her Potions class, she suddenly felt like Professor Snape was watching her. In class this had always made her hunch down over her work in an attempt to portray a more intense concentration than she was actually engaged in and thereby, perhaps, escape his notice. Not only did she not have the paraphernalia to accomplish this subterfuge, she had no inclination to encourage him sneaking up on her.

"My potion is finished, Professor," she said and turned to face her captor.


	4. Chapter 4: The Slytherin

Chapter Four: The Slytherin

* * *

Snape had used a muting spell of his own design to eliminate the sound of his footfalls and the creak of the stairs in order to prevent the girl from hearing his approach, apparently all to no avail.

"I see that, Miss Granger." He stopped on the last step, flummoxed as to how she had known he was there.

"It's ready for you to inspect, sir."

"It would be unlikely that your hastily thrown-together potion would be up to my exacting standards." His eyes flicked about the room – _nothing_ was out of place. How could that be, if she had actually brewed a potion? Had she simply filled a few phials with water? If that were the case, her ruse would be easily exposed.

He stepped down into the lab and approached the workbench. Picking up the closest phial, he carefully withdrew the stopper and held it to his nose. It certainly smelled like . . .

" _Antidote for Common Poisons_."

"Yes, sir," she said, almost beaming and seeming very proud of herself. He marked her behavior odd, that she would take such pleasure in this accomplishment. His suspicion returned. He had forced Karkaroff down the street to a squalid Muggle pub, the man's paranoia was getting out of hand, and had spent all of 40 minutes calming him down.

"There is no way you could have brewed this in the time I was otherwise engaged," he insisted, again glancing about and confirming the undisturbed nature of his lab.

"I have the instructions memorized, Professor."

 _Still not likely_ , he thought and touched a finger to the mouth of the phial. He transferred a drop of her potion to his tongue. This was impossible!

"Miss Granger, this recipe is of my own design and I've never shared it with anyone."

"You share it with your students, Professor. You write potion instructions on the board for every class instead of having us use the one in the book. You've taught us to be efficient and tidy and your apothecary is organized exactly the same as the one at Hogwarts. You even mark the unicorn horns, on the bottom, and in the same way – 'F' for female, 'M' for male. And you have us use the female horns while brewing _Antidote for Common Poisons_ because it makes for a more effective remedy."

"But Miss Granger," Snape said curtly. "You said I was your Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor."

* * *

 _Fool!_ Hermione cursed herself. She realized she was staring up at him, into those intense black eyes, and dragged her gaze to the floor.

"Now why would you lie to me about something like that?" he said in that soft, steady voice he used on students when he wanted to extract information. He already had that character trait down pat.

Hermione swallowed hard. If she told him the truth, she would be revealing part of the future. If she tried to lie – to a Legilimens no less! – she could ruin her only opportunity of gaining refuge with him. Damned if she did and damned if she didn't. But if she had any chance of surviving in this timeline, she needed him to trust her. Taking a deep breath, she mentally braced herself and looked once again into his eyes. The truth it is – but as little as possible.

"You were the Hogwarts Potion Master up until my sixth year when Dumbledore assigned you to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. You excelled at both positions. I think it should be obvious that I obtained my potions training at your hand." That couldn't mess things up too bad, could it?

He stared at her a few moments longer and she used up the last of her courage holding his gaze. Then, his position – straight and stiff – relaxed. He gave her a half-smirky kind of smile, crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the workbench.

"So the old codger eventually recognizes my abilities, does he?"

Hermione was stunned at the effect her statement had on the man in front of her. He seemed . . . pleased . . . at Dumbledore's good opinion of him. She was well aware of the effect of flattery on the adolescent boy's psyche and how adolescent girls used that to their advantage, a practice she abhorred. But, no matter how young, Professor Snape?

He was staring off into space, his face slightly turned toward one of the sconces. She was struck again at how youthful he looked. Was he even twenty? This was _not_ her Professor Snape, she had to remind herself, though he already had many of the habits and characteristics of the man she knew eighteen years in the future. But how malleable was that future? And this man? Could she change it and therefore him? Or had she already changed everything? Had she been destined to return to the past to complete some kind of mission, just like Harry was destined to defeat Voldemort? Were her years at Hogwarts influenced by what she had already accomplished in the past? Her brain felt like it was blowing a fuse.

She did not know what had turned Severus Snape to Dumbledore's employ, but if she attempted to persuade him to switch sides, she would not be contravening history as she knew it to be. Was that what she was here to do?

Hermione was pants at flattering a young man's ego with meaningless, inflated praise as she had seen other girls do – her recent experience watching Lavender Brown apply such wiles to Ron Weasley still left her wanting to puke her guts up. On the other hand, she genuinely admired Professor Snape – at least _her_ Professor Snape. Where other girls lied and e1xaggerated their admiration to influence the young males of their acquaintance, perhaps Hermione could use the actual truth? She'd just have to be careful to guard her tongue about anything dealing with the future.

"Apparently he values you above all others," she said, quite honestly. "You are privy to and primary player in all of his plans - like no other member of the Order."

The smile ghosted across his lips again.

"Despite the fact that you are a Death Eater," she added.

The smile evaporated and his lips became a taut line. His black eyes again bore into hers. Had she gone too far?

"How do you . . . ?" He snapped his mouth shut, leaving unfinished the question he had already asked repeatedly that night.

"You showed me – well, us – um, several members of the Order," she offered, tentatively. And then did the bravest thing she had ever done in her life. Stepping close to him, she laid her hand on the upper forearm Professor Snape had shown them the night Voldemort had reincarnated. She slipped her fingers to the inside of that arm still crossed over his chest and squeezed gently. "Here." _No wonder, now, that the Sorting Hat put me in Gryffindor_ , she thought, and looked up into his face.

"Even with the Dark Mark burned into your flesh, you are Dumbledore's most trusted aide," she said softly.

Hermione saw him glance down at her hand on his arm and she felt him tense. She didn't even come up to his shoulder and she was standing so close he didn't need to move his head to look into her eyes. She expected him to be angry, but his face was blank, his damp hair framing his pale skin. As she continued to gaze into his eyes, his features seemed to soften, his eyes hinted at a warmth that wanted to be there. For that long moment, as they stood so close, Hermione had a strong sense of déjà vu come over her that she could not explain.

He seemed to come back to himself and gently extricated his arm from her grasp.

"I will take that option under advisement," he said quietly. "It's late and if you truly want to be my apprentice, you will have to make an early start of it in the morning. I have a spare bedroom upstairs that you can use for now." He turned abruptly, heading toward and up the stairs.

Hermione watched him take the treads two at a time, his robes billowing, filling the entire stairway, and then pause at the doorway into the kitchen.

" _Nox_ ," he commanded, without drawing his wand. The lab was plunged into darkness and Hermione wondered how she was going to make her way up the stairway in the pitch blackness. Then he turned halfway on the landing and the light from the kitchen shadowed him in profile and spilled down the stairs.

"Are you turning down my offer, Miss Granger?"

She took the first step up the stairway, unsure, at least in part, of what the future would bring.

* * *

Hermione groaned into her pillow. She had a dim awareness of aches and pains in her shoulders and knees. _Why would that be?_ she thought groggily. _Oh._ That hard fall in Knockturn Alley last night. _Yeah._ Frowning, she lazily began stretching under her covers, attempting to limber up complaining muscles. Why had she been in Knockturn Alley? In a rush the memories of the night before flooded her mind. She scrambled upright in her bed. Not her bed. Heart palpitating with panic, she looked about - not her Gryffindor dorm room either. The cold, stone walls, canopy, curtains and roommates – all gone. She was in a tiny, drab room that was barely large enough for the cramped bed upon which she lay. She felt mentally dislodged, disorientated. Last night had been real. Somehow, she had been sent back in time.

A strong rap sounded on her door and she knew that Severus Snape, eighteen years younger than the one that she had known at Hogwarts, was on the other side. Her thoughts were a swirl about him. He was very much like her Professor Snape and because of that, her instinct was to trust him. At the same time, he had shown behavior that warned her this was _not_ her Professor Snape. But she hadn't anywhere to go for the foreseeable . . . uh . . . future, so she had to play her cards right.

The knock sounded again.

"One moment, sir," she said loudly and threw the covers back. Reaching for her wand under the pillow, where she kept it every night, her hand sought desperately for that precious stick of wood. She started to panic before she remembered that she had lost it - either at Hogwarts, in the future, or in Knockturn Alley last night. Perhaps that should be the first step in her strategy - obtain a wand. That would make it much easier striking out on her own if things go awry here and she had to abscond at a moment's notice. Yes – that would be her most prudent scheme.

Jumping out of bed – fully clothed since she literally had left Hogwarts with only the clothes on her back and Professor Snape had not offered her anything else – she took the three or four steps across the tiny room. She would have to look for the slightest opportunity to get her hands on a wand. Opening the door a few inches, she peered out.

"Yes, Professor?"

"If you are going to be my apprentice in more than name only, Miss Granger, you will be expected to arise early and work hard," he said tartly.

"Yes, sir," she concurred. "I usually set an Alarm Charm for 6 am, but I need my wand for that. I seem to have lost it."

"Indeed," he said. "I checked in the alleyway where you were accosted by those pub rats and where I presume you first came through," he raised a questioning eyebrow at her and she nodded. "I was unable to find anything there."

"You did? That was very thoughtful of you, sir, thank you. It must have been knocked out of my hand when I was transported from Hogwarts." Hoping she wasn't being too transparent, she added, "My usefulness brewing potions will be limited without a wand, sir."

"For all I know it will be limited _with_ one, nonetheless," he said, that touch of silk she would come to know all too well in the future shimmered in his voice now. His eyes trailed downward. "And if you had your own wand, perhaps you could keep that pernicious pullover from reverting back to the original."

Hermione followed his gaze – the silver snake on green background was gone and once again her jumper was red with a prominent lion's head in gold. She almost let her temper flare at his gibe, but if she agreed . . .

"With a wand, I could definitely keep the lion at bay," she concluded. "And add to my wardrobe as well."

"How well can you cook?"

"Pants, without a wand. With – not so bad," she said trying to keep her annoyance at minimum. Why does everyone think she can cook just because she's a girl?

"Yes, I get the point – you're pretty much useless without a wand. But how long would you stick around once you had one in hand?" he queried, the intensity of his gaze a clue that he might be using Legilimency and therefore honesty would be the best policy.

"I have no friends or family here. Where would I go? My only option at this point would be to camp out in the Forest of Dean and that's certainly not feasible."

"Dumbledore?"

"He knows you better than he knows me," she said. "And what will Dumbledore want if he knew I was from the future? I am certain it would be as unwise to give him details of upcoming events as it would be to give them to you. And, since we are being brutally honest here, you will have a better chance of my inadvertently letting something slip if I'm your apprentice, as I am quite sure you are aware."

He quirked a wry smile.

"We can take turns, then," he said.

"Turns?"

"Cooking. Your breakfast is ready downstairs in the kitchen. When you're done, come down to the lab." He turned abruptly, strode down the tiny hall and descended the stairs. She watched his black robes fill the available space between the walls. He already had that part of his persona securely in place.

* * *

If he had any doubt that the bedraggled girl he had rescued from Knockturn Alley was a time-traveler, her performance with the potion last night had allayed any such concerns. There was no way she could have produced his perfected recipe for _Antidote for Common Poisons_ if he hadn't, sometime in the future, given it to her. And she knew about his ability at Occlumency – he must never forget that was what made her most dangerous to him.

Now what? He had to carefully think through this current quandary and he always did his best thinking while performing some mundane potions chore. Pulling a basket of dried peppermint from under his workbench, he began de-stemming the crisp, withered leaves and dropping them into a mortar.

The most logical solution to his problem would be to just kill the girl now. That would guarantee that the Dark Lord would never discover the extent of his Occlumency – at least not from anyone besides himself and only if he himself messed it up. What had shocked him most of anything the girl let slip about the future was that somehow he would end up telling Dumbledore about it. Under what circumstances had that occurred?

Snape had always harbored a grudging admiration for Albus Dumbledore. The man was a brilliant wizard and, he believed, much more cunning than a Gryffindor had any right to be. Lord Voldemort had many times mistaken this cunning for weakness and Snape secretly felt the Dark Lord should have been subtler in his actions, as would befit one sorted Slytherin.

Upon his graduation from Hogwarts, Snape had been faced with a dilemma: side with Dumbledore or Voldemort. He had weighed many factors, primary being employment. His father had finally abandoned his family a few years after Snape had left for school and his mother had passed away a year before he graduated. Although she had managed to finish paying off the mortgage on the dwelling before she died, he had been left essentially penniless and had to fend for himself. If it hadn't been for the Malfoys taking him in the summer after her death, he doubted he would have been able to complete his final year at Hogwarts.

He had applied for a position teaching at his alma mater immediately after he had graduated, but Dumbledore had thought him too young – he would be teaching his former schoolmates and, the Headmaster believed, would lack authority over them in a classroom setting and thought a few more years under his belt would benefit both Snape and the students. Dumbledore had encouraged him to reapply a few years down the road, and that had actually been where the Dark Lord had drawn his plan to place Snape at Hogwarts as his spy. According to the girl, that was going to work, but he'd actually be spying for the other side.

Trying to find a job in the Wizarding world had been a joke. Due to Lord Voldemort's effective organization and associated activities, no one was hiring Slytherins. The Dark Lord had employed him to brew potions and had generously equipped the lab he now labored in, providing funds to set him up in business brewing for local as well as foreign potion shops. Although no one wanted to hire a Slytherin, they certainly didn't mind the quality of Snape's potions or the lower prices.

He picked up the pestle and began gently crushing the leaves in the mortar. A sweet, minty fragrance wafted to his nose as the peppermint powdered.

And the girl was right about something else: the Dark Lord seemed to be mentally slipping off the rails, so to speak. That was why Karkaroff was so distressed last night. Lord Voldemort had kidnapped and then killed a member of the Order of the Phoenix, instead of attempting to coerce them into joining the ranks of his Death Eaters as he had claimed to be doing. It was as though his impatience to take over the Wizarding world was overcoming the inborn caution and political maneuvering that was a Slytherin's stock in trade.

Snape had learned that people were much more useful alive than dead. Alive they could be manipulated and, if done subtly, no one would be the wiser. Dead, there were all sorts of consequences ready to befoul the best-laid plans. Only in rare circumstances could eliminating someone be justified and he was beginning to believe this might be one. Alive, Hermione Granger was a grave risk to him. Dead – seeing as how she had come from the future and no one knew she was here – there would be no consequences at all, that he could foresee.

On the other hand, there was the potential to gain significant information, and therefore advantage, about impending events that might affect his own life and quality thereof. If there was any chance that he could wrangle such insights from her, it would well be worth keeping her around.

Besides, Snape had never killed anyone . . . yet.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for your lovely reviews! They certainly keep me going!


	5. Chapter 5: Vine and Dragon Heartstring

Chapter Five: Vine and Dragon Heartstring

* * *

Professor Snape did not look up from his mortar and pestle as she descended the stairs into the potions lab. The cellar was so suited to him, and bore such a striking resemblance and feel to the classroom she had spent so much time in with this same man, that she experienced a sense of security here. Almost as if she were home. And breakfast hadn't been half bad either.

"What is the most difficult potion you've made to date?" he queried, still intent on his task. The scent of peppermint increased as she approached him.

"Um . . . probably Polyjuice Potion."

"I sincerely doubt that I would teach any student of mine how to assemble that particular brew."

"No, sir," she concurred. "It was a special project of my own."

He paused to look over at her.

"You've actually made Polyjuice Potion?" He sounded skeptical. No surprise. "And it worked?"

"Yes, sir. When I was a second ye. . . ," she snapped her mouth shut. The knee-jerk reaction she had developed to always please _her_ Professor Snape was a definite detriment in this situation. At this rate she might as well just set him down and tell him every little detail about the future she could remember.

"Then what is the last ingredient added to finish the potion?" he queried.

She opened her mouth to say _lacewing flies_ when she realized he was trying to trick her.

"The hair of the human being you want to imitate," she finished hastily.

"Human being?"

Hermione felt her face flush with heat and hoped it wasn't as red as it felt. He frowned, obviously perplexed.

"Yes . . .," he said slowly. "Human being is taken for granted, unless . . .," he grinned as understanding dawned. "Oh, Miss Granger, you didn't . . .," his question ended in honest, genuine laughter.

She did her best not to gawk at him. Professor Snape. _Laughing!_ She never would have thought it possible. And it actually looked quite good on him.

"Assuming it was a mistake, what animal did you become?" he was still chuckling as he asked.

"Of course it was a mistake! I took a hair from the robes of someone who owned a cat."

"And Dumbledore let you attend class for the next year as an animal?"

"Year? It only took about a month," she corrected.

"No, that's not possible. It takes twelve full months for such a mistake to wear off."

She frowned and shook her head. "I was in the infirmary a little over a month after Madam Pomfrey gave me the reversal potion."

"A reversal potion doesn't exist," he insisted.

"Well, maybe it does in the . . . ," she started to point out and snapped her mouth shut once again. Now her mind whirled in confusion. If a reversal potion didn't exist now but did in her time – someone had to invent it in the next eighteen years. She stared at him. _Her_ Professor Snape was the preeminent Potion Master of her time. Did . . . does he invent it? And if he does . . . did . . . was it because she mentioned it just now? Then . . . had she already influenced the life she had lived up until this moment by traveling into the past? This was strong evidence that she had indeed been meant to time travel to precisely where she was now. He seemed to be contemplating the same scenario.

"So . . . how long do I have to develop that potion?" he asked softly.

She shook her head.

"You know I shouldn't tell you that. I don't actually know who formulates it – only that Madam Pomfrey had it when I needed it."

His black eyes, still crinkled with mirth, gazed at her a moment longer. Then he smiled – again, an unsettling sight despite having seen it several times now – took out his wand and pointed it at her. Not sure of what he was doing, Hermione tried to resist stiffening against the spell that flew from the tip of his wand. Her jumper was again green with a silver snake replacing the golden lion.

"Let's get you a wand."

* * *

Professor Snape Apparated them to a gritty little walkway in Knockturn Alley. The tiny shops were shabby and the street mostly deserted, though it was mid-morning. She had the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. A face peeking out from behind a curtained door disappeared with alacrity and that sensation increased.

Several blocks later and square footage expanded the shop spaces, the fronts were cleaner, increasingly decorative, and now presentable to more decent folk. Another turn and they were in Diagon Alley proper. Hermione exhaled a breath she had been unaware of holding.

They approached Ollivanders and if the shop had changed at all between now and when she would get her original wand in approximately eleven years, she could not pick out the differences. The sign outside said the Ollivanders had been making wands since 382 B.C. but, although old, surely the building hadn't been there that long.

When Hermione stepped through the entrance, a strong gust of wind shuddered throughout the shop. She stopped, a distinct impression of déjà vu overcoming her. The same thing had happened when she had come for her first wand when she was eleven. She sensed Professor Snape hesitate at the threshold behind her and suspected he had pulled his wand as the magical wind blew past. The soft, enchanted chime announcing a new customer pealed through the space, but Mr. Ollivander was already making his way down the crooked center aisle, bordered on either side by towering stacks of boxed wands. A look of concern shadowed his face.

"What's going on here?" he demanded as he stepped up to the counter, looking about the place and having obviously heard that wind whistling through his shop.

Professor Snape entered and stepped up beside her, tucking his wand up a sleeve. No other customers were in the shop and they had apparently lucked upon a lull between the organized folk purchasing their school supplies early and those for whom nothing was done until the last minute. The place was dusty, creaky and the magic exuding from the wall of wands before them tingled against her skin.

"Severus," Mr. Ollivander said stiffly, eyeing her Professor suspiciously.

"Garrick," Professor Snape said and she could hear the curt nod in his voice. "My apprentice needs a new wand." He took one of the chairs by the door and she wondered what could have precipitated this frosty exchange. Mr. Ollivander's silvery gaze focused on her, now the obvious customer.

"A new wand?" he inquired, his eyes flicking quickly toward Professor Snape and then back again.

"Yes, sir. Apparently I have lost my first one."

"Then you've come to the right place! You will find that a wand from Ollivanders will be the best wand you will ever have!" he exclaimed and his enthusiasm for the subject was catching.

"That's why I'm here, sir! I purchased my first wand from . . . "

An abrupt fit of coughing from Professor Snape interrupted her response to the sales pitch. While Mr. Ollivander threw him an annoyed look, chill realization hit her - she had almost spilled the beans. Ollivander remembered every person he had ever sold a wand to and she had nearly revealed that she had purchased her first wand from him. By the time the wandmaker turned back to her, she had a cover story in place.

"I purchased my previous wand from what I now believe to be an unreliable source," she lied. Thinking she might pick up some relevant information about the situation, she decided to test the apparent unease between the shopkeeper and her new mentor. "Mr. Snape suggested I purchase my next wand from you, as an Ollivander wand is the best a witch or wizard could come by."

"Did he now?" was all that Mr. Ollivander mumbled, his voice so soft she expected that Professor Snape could not hear what he had said. He tugged open a drawer and pulled out his measuring tape. Stepping from behind the counter, he stretched the tape between her shoulder and her wrist and then let go of it. The remainder of the measurements the tape quickly did by itself, the wandmaker watching it intently. Hermione's nose itched and she couldn't tell if it was from the tape brushing against it while measuring the distance between her eyes or if it was from the dust motes, magic-laden and dry, that she must have been breathing in.

"Hmm," Mr. Ollivander looked up at the stacks of boxed wands, tapping his chin with one finger. "Let's start with walnut . . . or maybe even laurel . . . ," he began. A sudden rattling echoed through the store and both of them looked up to find the source.

About midway up the mass of boxes, one was shaking so vigorously that it disturbed its neighbors and beset the nearest boxes with sympathetic vibrations. The box wriggled its way out of its berth and dropped loudly to the floor.

"Odd," Mr. Ollivander said and strode behind the counter to fetch it.

It _was_ odd – but strangely familiar as well. When she had come to this shop for a wand when she was eleven, she had been waiting patiently at the counter as Mr. Ollivander served another customer. There had been several wands stacked near him as the customer tried different combinations of wood, core, length and flexibility. One of the boxes had tipped over, dumping the wand on the counter and it had rolled over to her. Mr. Ollivander had watched it travel at least ten feet to get to her hand – significantly beyond what natural law would have allowed. When she looked up at him, he had nodded and her wand had chosen its witch.

"Vine and dragon heartstring," she said softly.

The current Mr. Ollivander stood up, the fallen box in his pallid hands, open.

"Why, yes, young lady – how did you know?" Mr. Ollivander asked as he offered her the wand.

"I . . . uh . . . ," she gritted her teeth. "I've a bit of talent in . . . divination," she said quickly and took the wand.

Delicious warmth tingled along the nerves in her fingers and a satisfying comfort flowed up her arm. Turning the wand in her hands, she studied the intricate carvings around the handle. _This can't be!_ she thought and quickly upended the wand to examine the base. This was the same wand. This was _her_ wand. How did it get here? Or rather – how does it get there, to the future?

"Mr. Ollivander, has this wand had a previous owner?"

He looked indignant.

"Of course it hasn't. We don't sell _used_ wands," he said through teeth that were very nearly clenched together.

She nodded and flicked her wand at the box and lid in Mr. Ollivander's hands. They gently floated upward, landing, just as gently, on the counter.

"Very nice!" Mr. Ollivander applauded. "I believe you have found your match, Miss . . . ?"

"Hermione," she said. "Hermione Gra . . ."

Another quick cough from Professor Snape interrupted her again.

"It does appear so, doesn't it? And rather quickly too," said Professor Snape as he stood and approached the counter. He fished out a handful of coins. "Seven galleons, I believe?"

Mr. Ollivander glared at Professor Snape but then gave a curt nod and held out his hand. Gold flashed as the appropriate amount was dropped into the wandmaker's palm. Hermione wondered anew at the tension between the two men as she secreted her wand up the sleeve of her jumper.

They turned to go and Professor Snape had already opened the door when she heard Mr. Ollivander clear his throat.

"Oh, Miss, uh, Hermione," he called, raising his voice to ensure she would hear him. "You forgot your box."

She looked over her shoulder, about to tell him to keep it, when the expression on his face changed her mind. Letting Professor Snape continue out of the shop, she turned back to get the wand box.

"Please be careful, Miss," Mr. Ollivander warned, voice low, eyes darting toward the window. "I think Severus Snape is a supporter of . . . You-Know-Who."

She followed the wandmaker's covert glance. Professor Snape stood just outside the shop, looking intently through the window, no doubt wondering at her delay. A slight breeze picked up and played with his black robes, filling them with a generous billow. His black hair tousled about his young face. She knew that one day Dumbledore would trust this man beyond any other. Was it her job to turn him away from Voldemort? She felt for the wand inside her sleeve. Evidence was mounting that such was the case. She would have to take advantage of each opportunity to do so.

"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander," she said, turning to leave. "I will most certainly heed your advice."

* * *

Snape's first tendency was to slip back into the wandmaker's shop as quickly as he could. Was there a back door through which she could exit, out of sight? He did not know – uncharacteristically careless of him, really. Why had he not thought of that until this moment? She now had a wand and that made an escape much more possible and therefore much more likely. He was just about to swear at his lapse when Miss Granger emerged from the shop carrying the box her wand had been stored in.

He relaxed and tried not to reveal any indication that he had been suspicious of her. If she trusted him, she might feel more comfortable about talking and, while so engaged, might reveal more of what she knew about the future, particularly his future.

"You wanted the box?" he queried. "I've never known any witch or wizard to use it again."

"No. The box was an excuse. Mr. Ollivander wanted to warn me about you."

Snape's eyebrows rose. He was surprised at the direct honesty conveyed in her voice and which he saw repeated in her honey-brown eyes as she looked up at him. A slight breeze frolicked about her hair turning several strands toward the sun, which burnished them gold.

"He told me you were a follower of . . . _the Dark Lord_ ," she said, the last three words in a hush as a witch and her obviously first-year son passed them on the walk and entered Ollivanders.

"You already knew that," he said, smirking.

"You seem pleased that Mr. Ollivander is afraid of you," she said – a statement of fact, he could tell, not a condemnation. He nodded down the alley and begin walking. She fell in beside him.

"Respect is one of the benefits of joining the Dark Lord," Snape said simply. After his miserable childhood with his Muggle father and the maltreatment he suffered at the hand of nearly every Gryffindor he encountered, allying himself with Voldemort had brought a blessed respite in his persecution. It had been well worth it. Up until last night.

"Fear is not the same thing as respect, Professor," she said, confidence in her words evident in her voice. "I have seen the profound regard your colleagues at Hogwarts have for you and it's very different from how Mr. Ollivander behaves. You have. . . rather, you _will_ have . . . many friends among the staff at Hogwarts."

As they walked, he briefly glanced down at her. She was looking up at him and the admiration he saw in her features attempted to fill an emptiness he had never bothered to acknowledge. He felt as if the heavy dark clouds of his life were trying to part and a bright ray of sunshine was struggling to invade. This was such a rare occurrence he didn't know how to respond, a feeling of unease overtook him, and he was about to look away. But then her eyes changed, settling into bemusement.

"Well, okay – all of your students are terrified of you, except perhaps Slytherin House – they all seem to adore you, but at the same time they have an ample amount of awe where your skills are concerned."

"Why would Slytherin House . . . adore me?"

"Because you're their . . . ," she hesitated, seeming to mull over the decision to divulge further information. "You are head of Slytherin House as well."

So he would become head of his old Hogwarts house. That was a tantalizing incentive. Was that why she mentioned it? To lure him to Dumbledore's side? He made a mental note to start a journal to record all the information about the future he wheedled from her when they returned to Spinners End.

As they neared the Disapparation point, he noted Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor across the street. He hadn't patronized that shop since the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts, mainly because Potter and his obnoxious gang of four had nearly taken up residence there during the summers. Before that misfortune, he had spent many a pleasant afternoon in a corner dreaming up changes to standard potion formulations. Nostalgia swept over him and suddenly loosed his tongue.

"Would you care for an ice cream?" he blurted out, before thinking.

"I have no money Professor Snape," she pointed out.

"That didn't stop you from letting me buy you a wand," he rejoined.

"About that – do I get a salary for my apprenticeship?"

"No."

"That doesn't quite seem fair," she protested.

"An apprentice's master is required to provide for his charge's needs," he explained.

"In that case, yes – I think I need some ice cream," she said and smiled up at him again.

That annoying ray of sunshine struggled to return.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** In Ollivander's writings on wand woods (see Pottermore, Wand Woods, Vine) he states: "…these wands (vine) can emit magical effects upon the mere entrance into their room of a suitable owner, and I have twice observed the phenomenon in my own shop."

Actually, it was our own Hermione Granger both times.


	6. Chapter 6: A Spy Among Us

Chapter Six: The Spy Among Us

* * *

Hermione scooped up another spoonful of ice cream and let it melt slowly on her tongue. They were sitting at a table just outside of the ice cream parlor, sun shining brightly, and this was her favorite flavor, something Mr. Fortescue called "Golden Peppermint." It was a cheerful yellow that had a smooth, mellow hint of peppermint and for some reason reminded her of home and her parents and Hogwarts and her kneazly Crookshanks – all the things that made her happy. As the creamy confection slipped down her throat, the fact that she might not see any of them ever again didn't seem to bother her at all. Odd.

Professor Snape watched her intently as she ate and such attention from him would have normally made her nervous – very nervous. But that wasn't the case at the moment and she found that odd too. She met those dark eyes – they really _were_ black – and found herself smiling back at him, despite his complete lack of reciprocation.

"Why did you ask Ollivander if this wand . . .," he nodded toward her sleeve, ". . . had a previous owner?"

Rats. He had caught on to that. She took another scoop of ice cream. It probably wouldn't matter if she told him – and perhaps he was _supposed_ to know. But the questions weren't going to be one-sided any longer.

"I'll answer your question if you answer mine," she said and dipped her spoon for another bite.

"Depends on the question," he replied. "I suspect I can answer my own, anyway. You recognized that wand, didn't you? You think that is the wand from your future life."

Not only would she have a very difficult time obfuscating the truth from this Legilimens, it was going to be a chore escaping his sharp intellect and keen observation as well.

"Yes, it is."

"You're sure it's not just a similar wand – same type of wood and core?"

"Positive." She pulled the wand from her sleeve. "There is a unique hand-carved vine twining about the handle that has one slightly misshapen leaf at the base." She handed him her wand, handle first, so he could see that leaf. He examined it briefly and handed it back. "And it feels exactly like my wand. If Ollivander doesn't buy old wands to resell . . ."

". . . then you didn't lose it in Knockturn Alley," he filled in. "And . . . "

". . . somehow it gets returned to Ollivander's shop before I acquire it when I'm eleven."

They mulled over this for a few moments while eating their ice cream.

"What if you get a different one when you begin at Hogwarts?" he speculated. She contemplated this point.

"Wouldn't I remember being matched with a different wand in that case? As soon as this one chose me, wouldn't that have changed my future memories and I wouldn't have recognized it?"

"I suppose that depends on how time travel works. It could be that it branches off into different timelines with each choice rather than remaining one continuous reality."

She knew she should be more careful about what she said, but it was just after noon and the cold morning had warmed deliciously, the sun seeming to put forth extra effort to delay the coming Autumn and she felt sure that information about the Time-Turners would probably not interfere with the future.

"I used a Time-Turner my third year at Hogwarts – to take extra classes – and I briefly glimpsed my future self. I didn't know it was me at the time, but if timelines diverge, would I have been able to? And would such stringent instructions have to be issued about avoiding one's past self be needed if time travel was divergent?"

A sudden spark of interest flared in his eyes and she thought his next question would be about time-turners, but he seemed to quell his curiosity.

"The Department of Mysteries has been researching time travel for decades," he said, taking a bite of his own ice cream, which was, of course, black. As he waited for it to melt in his mouth, he seemed to be weighing his next comment. "But they never developed Time-Turners. Last month, the Muggles found twelve of these magical devices in a dig near Stonehenge. The Ministry intervened when an archeologist, one Geoffrey Wainwright, while attempting to examine the device, accidently sent himself two hours back in time. Ministry officials swarmed the place, wiped the Muggles' memories and placed a Fidelius Charm on part of the site. The Time-Turners have been handed over to the Department of Mysteries. The Dark Lord is particularly interested in time travel, but these devices are a disappointment since their range is only five hours into the past."

"Why does the Dark Lord want to time travel?" she asked.

"Specifically – no one knows. Apparently, there is something he wants to change but he's not telling anyone what that is," he said. Then he smirked at her. "Was that the question you wanted to ask?"

"No," she said, watching him take another bite of ice cream. "I understand sticking to a theme, but isn't black ice cream stretching it a bit?"

"Licorice is my favorite – it's not my fault if Fortescue colors it black. I had licorice ice cream in the Muggle world that was blue or purple. It's still my favorite."

"You've had Muggle ice cream?"

"Half-blood Prince, remember?"

"Yeah, about that. A bit pretentious, isn't it?"

"My mother's maiden name was Prince," he said, pursing his lips in apparent consternation.

The words were barely out of his mouth when everything fell into place in Hermione's mind.

" _Eileen_ Prince! I suspected she was involved somehow!" Hermione's excitement was palpable. "So she was a witch and your father was a Muggle!"

Professor Snape lowered his head and hunched his shoulders as if expecting a blow.

"Lower your voice, Granger!" he hissed at her. His black eyes surreptitiously scanned their immediate locale. "Merlin's pants, it's no wonder you sorted Gryffindor. Not everyone needs to overhear our conversation."

Unconcerned, for some unfathomable reason, at his anxious response, she downed another spoonful of ice cream. Maybe she was getting used to this younger version of her professor and no longer responded as if he were the god of the potions dungeon, as all Hogwarts students were wont. Familiarity breeds contempt? Or perhaps just complacency.

His eyes flicked to her bowl and a sly smirk eased itself across his lips as he watched her take another bite of her Golden Peppermint.

"I see you prefer Fortescue's most popular creation," he scoffed.

"How do you know this is the most popular?" she replied, easily ignoring the intended snark.

"Because I provide prodigious amounts of the main ingredient," he said casually, his smirk broadening into an actual smile. "And soon you will be helping me do so."

Hermione looked down at the ice cream in her bowl. A potion master provided the main ingredient? Golden Peppermint was made using a potion? She frowned as if the bunching of her brows could squeeze a connection from her mind. Bright, sunshiny yellow? Peppermint? It took looking up at him, the Half-blood Prince, for the final fragment to fit itself into the puzzle. Harry's potion book had added peppermint to the _Elixir to Induce Euphoria_ , which was . . . a lovely golden color.

"Fortescue spikes his ice cream," she stated flatly. Somehow that seemed like cheating, but why? Honeydukes charmed their candy to animate and probably taste better, so what was the difference? Was manipulating emotions to sell ice cream a step beyond normal marketing techniques, even magical ones? And more concerning, had Professor Snape taken her here to make her more amenable to questioning? She shook her head – he had let her choose whatever flavor she had wanted, even if he suspected she might select the one she had.

"But it's wildly popular," Professor Snape added. "If it gives his customers a temporary psychological boost, that certainly can't be . . ."

He suddenly clenched his teeth, drew a ragged breath and clutched at his forearm – the one where the Dark Mark resided.

"The Dark Lord calls. I must go." He stood so abruptly that he bumped into the table and her nearly finished bowl of ice cream slid toward her and balanced at the edge of the marble tabletop. She pushed it back toward the center as he took one step around, caught her upper arm and pulled her to her feet. It is convention, and manners, that Wizarding folk use specific points in populated areas to Disapparate from and Apparate to. Professor Snape now ignored that convention and as soon as she was clear of her chair, she felt him turning on his heel.

* * *

Snape suffered the squeezing tightness of Apparition as thoughts flew through his mind. He couldn't leave the girl in Diagon Alley and expect her to return to his place at Spinners End. But he had removed the anti-Apparition spells from his home when they had left for Knockturn Alley this morning and did not have the time to recast them. She could leave anytime she desired. And he had to get to the Dark Lord _now_.

They landed in the same spot he had brought them last night – his living room converted to a library. She looked up at him as he pointed his wand at her and she shook her head.

"Go! I promise to stay here," she said, her words were rushed yet clotted with concern. She understood what it would mean for him to delay. "Stay safe," she added and seemed actually worried about him. A twinge of gratitude flitted uncharacteristically across his heart and he turned on his heel again. For some reason, he felt that he could trust her, and so he did, turning on his heel as soon as he released her arm.

Malfoy Manor loomed ahead – where he had wanted to take the girl last night. He strode toward the ostentatious front gate, lifting the arm imprinted with the Dark Mark. The scrolled gate opened briefly and he continued up the walk toward the front door, gravel crunching underfoot, as he firmly set in place the mental patterns with which could deceive the Dark Lord if need be.

A house elf opened the ornate door at his knock and Snape strode across the threshold. He knew precisely where the Dark Lord would be located and brushed past the elf, heading toward the main dining hall. Black and white marble checkerboarded the entire first level of Malfoy Manor and his footfalls reverberated from the gray marble walls.

The usual complement of cronies were there, seated about the massive dining table that the Dark Lord used to conspire with his inner circle. Lord Voldemort at its head – then Lucius, Narcissa, Roldophus, Bellatrix, Rastaban arrayed down either side. And one there that was not so usual: Igor Karkaroff, Snape's guest of last night. Karkaroff's visit had seemed off and now he knew why. Igor had previously displeased the Dark Lord and he was apparently trying to get back into his Lord's good graces. And now Snape suspected he knew how the Romanian would attempt to do so.

He approached the head of the table and went to one knee at Voldemort's side.

"My Lord," he said and bowed his head to kiss the proffered ring – a dull gold band set with a heavy, non-descript black stone. The Dark Lord pulled his hand away before Snape could land the kiss.

"And why have you not informed me of your new apprentice, Severus? Indeed – why have you not sought my approval?" The Dark Lord looked at him, his eyes boring into Severus's own, burrowing for the truth.

"Because there is as yet no need of your approval, m'lord," Snape replied coolly, standing up and throwing a short, contemptuous glance Karkaroff's way. "The girl showed up at my home just before Igor did, claiming to be distant kin – which I have not had time to verify – and presuming I would take her on as an apprentice. She has passed one formulation test, but she will need to pass several others before I will mentor her." Now to scuttle Igor's plans.

"Since I have not yet accepted her, I felt no need to bother you with the annoying details beforehand. I was planning on discussing her at our regular meeting tomorrow night, but for an entirely different reason."

Lord Voldemort's flat, dead eyes no longer searched Severus's. Instead, they were looking at Karkaroff who, by all appearances, was trying to melt invisibly into his seat.

"And what reason is that, Severus?"

"She might be a spy."

All heads in the room snapped toward Snape.

"You want to willingly accept her into your service knowing she is a spy? You confirm your own idiocy, Snape," a youthful dark-haired woman sneered.

"Not at all, Bellatrix," Snape replied simply. "If we know she is a spy and, as my apprentice, is largely confined to my potions lab, it will be extraordinarily simple to feed her misinformation which she can convey to, presumably, the Order. If it is determined that she has such ties."

Lord Voldemort laughed out loud.

"You prove your worth once again, Severus," he said and a fleeting smile attempted to adorn taut lips. It didn't work, but he continued. "If your report from our informant is as clever, you may be excused from our meeting tomorrow."

"Alas, m'lord, I fear not. The objects in question have been moved to the Department of Mysteries. That informant is now useless."

"And you have taken care of her?"

"She has been appropriately Obliviated, m'lord," Snape replied. "There was one more tidbit she offered – the Time-Turners only send a person into the past. The future appears to be off limits."

"As suspected," Lord Voldemort sighed.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Are you cultivating a new informant in the Department of Mysteries?"

"I'm working on several options, m'lord," Snape said.

"And this is everything that you would have told me tomorrow evening?" Lord Voldemort's eyes snaked a glance toward Karkaroff, whose face was a pasty white.

"Yes, m'lord."

"If you come across any other pertinent information between now and then, I want you at that meeting. If not, consider your weekly report completed."

"Thank you,m'lord." Snape turned on his heel and left the dining hall, the sound of Karkaroff's scream in his ears.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Geoffrey Wainwright is a real Muggle archeologist who is involved with the work at Stonehenge, though we know, from Severus Snape's account, that he will not remember finding, or subsequently using, the Time-Turner he excavated from that site. Can't really blame him, can we?

P.S. - Yes, it's a short chapter. That's because I'M IN HARRY POTTER WORLD (Orlando) RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE! (02/11/2017)


	7. Chapter 7: Unspeakable

Chapter Seven: Unspeakable

* * *

That Hermione Granger was sitting on his couch, book in lap, in his library at Spinners End when he returned home made the solid ground seem to shift under his feet. She had kept her word. He had trusted her and she had kept her word. His soul was flooded with an utterly foreign sensation.

She looked up and, upon seeing him standing in the middle of the room staring at her, let out a breath that she had seemed to be holding.

"You're safe!" she said, relief easing the frown between her eyes and gracing a smile upon her lips.

Again, the strange sensation tugged at his soul. No one had ever genuinely been concerned for or about him as far back as he could remember. He looked deeply into her gentle brown eyes and was taken aback by the honesty he saw there. Her concern had been sincere. Hard as that was for him to believe, he found that he wanted to. That thought made him feel uneasy.

He hesitated, prevaricating on whether to tell her what he had suggested to the Dark Lord. He would be walking a thin line with Voldemort and the less anyone else knew what his scheme was, the safer he would be, and, most likely, the safer she would be as well. The words died in on his tongue.

"And why wouldn't I be?" he queried cautiously.

"He is a very dangerous wizard . . . and very unstable," she replied, concern still haunting her voice.

But then, Snape came back to himself – certainly her concern would be genuine. She was completely dependent upon him at this point. Staying in his good graces would be to her benefit. Apparently, she was grateful. He must not think it extended any further than that. He clearly remembered what happened the last time he thought someone cared for him.

Sudden realization sent icy shock flowing down his spine and flooded his extremities. He had actually been contemplating trusting this chit! And, although he had invented the story of her possibly being a spy to appease Lord Voldemort, what if she was? Or turned out to be? His mission for the Dark Lord – to gather information about the Ministry's research into time travel – was suddenly much more personal. What did the future Wizarding World know about time travel? Had this Granger girl been sent back to influence him? Was that why the Dark Lord was interested in the subject? He had to find out. He needed time to think. If it turned out that he was being set up by one side or the other, he would turn those tables on whoever was out to get him. Right now, he had to deal with her.

"I think it's time to put you to work, Miss Granger. My next shipment of _Elixir to Induce Euphoria_ is due at Fortescue's tomorrow morning. Shall we retire to the potions lab?"

* * *

Despite the dim light in the lab, Hermione immediately recognized the book he handed her. It wasn't as ragged and worn as the one she was familiar with, but opening it and turning through a few pages revealed the cramped, spiky handwritten modifications to the potions that Harry had used. She turned to the inside back cover, at the bottom, sure that he was testing her again.

"Yes, this is how I know that you are the Half-blood Prince," she said, preempting his question. "It was left in a closet in the potions lab and loaned to a friend of mine. That friend found spells noted in the margins and shared some of them with our group. We all deliberated on who the original owner of the book might have been. You weren't even on our list, Professor." She set the book down on the workbench.

His black eyes watched her intently and she met his gaze, so that he could see she was being honest. She tried to keep images of Ron, Ginny and Neville in her mind as part of her "group".

"And they do not know who the Half-blood Prince is?"

"Not by the time I was transported here. Of course, I do not know what is happening now. Or even if they are alive." She felt accusation welling in her eyes and looked away. _Her_ Professor Snape was on the right side. This Professor Snape – she had no clue.

He took a sudden step toward her and, startled, she looked up at him. He was so much taller that she had to drop her head back to see his face. There was such a familiar look of consternation on his features that admiration for the old Professor Snape flooded back through her. He was so close she could feel warmth radiating from his body. Unfortunately, she felt another warmth flush her own cheeks as well.

Stabbing a long finger in the center of the book, he smirked.

" _Elixir to Induce Euphoria_ , Miss Granger. Double batch. Two hours."

She swallowed, hard.

"It's Hermione, Professor."

"It's Severus, Hermione."

He brushed by her and headed for the stairs, black robes billowing as always. Hermione began to breathe again.

* * *

Snape pulled a length of parchment from a drawer, dipped a quill into the inkpot at the upper right-hand corner of his scarred, dilapidated desk and started writing, furiously. He had to catalog every event, every scrap of information that Miss Granger – Hermione – had divulged to date. Any bit of data might mean his continued life or a decidedly ugly death. He forced the quill to scratch line after line as quickly as it could go, beginning when he found her in the alley and ending with her last comment, just minutes ago, about her friend being loaned Snape's own _Advanced Potions_ textbook out of a closet in the Hogwarts potions lab. One day he might have to remember to leave it there.

Next, he had to analyze the facts written down. There was some indication that her travel into the past had already affected her in the future. He needed to start developing an antidote for Polyjuice-induced anamagism. Perhaps he could sell a few vials of the stuff to St. Mungo's for a tidy profit as well. He quickly scratched down a few possible formulations for exploration. And there was her wand – how does that get back to Ollivander's? Miss Granger – Hermione – would have to ensure the wand was returned to the shop in time for her younger self to match with it, since she wasn't going to tell him when that was. If she was still around, that is. And if she happened to disappear, one way or another? Well – then he would have to do it as soon as he could. He scribbled that down on the parchment as well.

Snape ceased writing, returned his quill to the inkpot and leaned back in his chair, a well-worn leather wingback. He had positioned his desk in the corner of the bedroom he had claimed after his mother died. Miss Granger – Hermione – was using his old room. While working, the solid walls blocked outside distractions, but when he leaned back and looked to the side, he could see out of the solitary window that the room enjoyed. Leaning back now, he rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, steepling his index fingers. The windows of the row houses facing his own stared back at him, though he paid them no heed. It was the huge chimney of the abandoned textile mill, although nearly a mile away, rising beyond those houses, that always drew his contemplation. It was the same chimney that could be seen from the little park to which, as a boy, he had escaped as often as possible to avoid the difficulties of his family life. It was the park where he had first discovered Lily Evans.

 _Potter_ , he corrected. He had fancied himself in love with the Evans girl at one time. That had gradually petered out over the course of their years at Hogwarts as she increasingly adopted the annoying affectations of the House of Gryffindor. There was a baffling proliferation of hypocrisies in Lily Evans as she grew up. Even before they had started school, it was perfectly acceptable for her sister, Petunia, to be as rude to him as she liked, but he always got "that" glare from his friend if he reciprocated. Slytherins were always held to stricter standards than her goofy Gryffindor dorm mates. She constantly complained about Slytherins perpetrating pranks using Dark magic while refusing to accept his evidence of Remus Lupin's lycanthropy – some of the darkest magic in existence. Dumbledore had extracted Snape's promise never to reveal Lupin's condition, but from what he understood, Lily had since found out that her old Slytherin friend had been correct. He would have loved to seen the look on her face with her discovery of that tidbit of information. No matter. She would never have apologized – he doubted that word existed in the vocabulary of a Gryffindor.

The nail in the coffin of his feelings for her came the day she had "saved" him from James Potter's assault after their O.W.L.'s had been completed. As he was hanging upside down by his ankle, he saw her mouth twist into a smile that she tried to hide. Lily Evans, his best friend, was laughing at him. His soul ignited with a fury he had rarely known. Not only did she find the situation humorous, but she was the reason he was this situation and at James Potter's mercy. The spell that Potter had used was one Snape himself had crafted. He usually shared the spells he created with his Slytherin mates and his best friend Lily, all sworn to secrecy. But what he couldn't understand was how his spells shortly became known and used throughout Hogwarts. Increasingly, sadly, he had begun to suspect his Gryffindor friend as the source of the leak. And he had tested her with his newest spell, _Levicorpus_ , by telling no one else besides Lily. Within two weeks, the spell was all over the school and Snape knew who the culprit was. He was done with her. His fury at her betrayal overwhelmed him and he wanted to hurt her as thoroughly as she had hurt him and the dreaded "Mudblood" had been hurled at her. He had apologized, hoping to elicit the same from her, but true to form, she had berated him for his house and his friends, laying all the blame on him. He was done with her at that moment.

In stark contrast, his Slytherin friends had snuck up behind the Marauders and had set Potter's and Black's robes on fire. Pettigrew had slipped away, as always, just before reinforcements had arrived and Lupin's pretense at innocence wouldn't have worked if he hadn't been Prefect. His Slytherin mates had his back. Why shouldn't he remain loyal to those loyal to him?

Now he had somehow gotten himself tangled up with another Gryffindor female. This one seemed rather intelligent, though her obvious Gryffindor qualities might easily negate any advantage her intelligence might provide. She seemed decent at potions, but that might actually be due to his future potions class instruction and not her native ability. She was still impulsive, prone to drama and she talked too much, but he needed what she might know about the future and so, for now, he had to tolerate her idiosyncrasies.

Snape had been forced to give the Dark Lord an intriguing reason to keep the girl with him and so, on the spot, had told Lord Voldemort that the girl might be a spy for the Order and, if that was the case, it might be an opportunity to send disinformation to their opposition. Snape wouldn't have had to tell him anything if Karkaroff had kept his mouth shut or the girl herself hadn't jumped up and answered the door. Foolish, impulsive Gryffindor. There was no word for Karkaroff except coward.

Nevertheless, it had been a relatively easy task, given the wizard's unfettered distrust of everyone and everything and Snape's own simmering suspicions. Unfortunately, Lord Voldemort would now be interested in regular updates and perhaps he would even want to meet this new apprentice. Snape, naturally, would prefer to keep the two of them apart and attending to his current assignment might deflect the Dark Lord's interest from the girl.

Although Hermione genuinely seemed confused about how she had time-traveled, Snape wasn't entirely convinced that she was not a spy. He could not confirm that she wasn't and so it had been an easy stretch to focus on and feed that line to the Dark Lord and simply not disclose the most important facet of the girl's circumstances – that she was from the future. Now he had to confront the possibility head on.

Could she have been sent back in time on purpose? If so, who had sent her back – how and why? How would they even know when and where to send her? He jerked his gaze from the window and stared at his desk and the parchments laying there. He had just written down the precise date and time when he found her in that alley. Shit. He grabbed the parchments and tossed them into the wastebasket beside his desk. Pulling his wand, he was about to blast them with an _Incendio_ but stopped. _Consequences, Severus_ , he murmured to himself. _Calculate the consequences._

If he destroyed these notes, would the girl disappear? Only if his recently inked parchments were the sole source relied upon to send her into the past. Was there another source? Snape calmly thought it through. Yes. Obviously, he knew and the girl knew. Either of them could tell someone in the future. There would be no need to destroy his summary of events. Especially if he promised himself now that he would hide the parchments and never tell anyone about them. Done.

What if she had been sent back specifically to influence him? It seemed odd that she would be unaware of such an assignment and his rudimentary Legilmency of her confirmed that she was ignorant of how she had time-traveled. She had admitted that she had been allowed the use of a Time-Turner to supplement her class schedule and he knew the Time-Turners recently discovered by the Ministry were limited in their scope to a few hours into the past. That's definitely not how she got here.

Was it possible that he himself had sent the girl back? If he had told Dumbledore about his Occlumency and had betrayed Lord Voldemort, what else was his future self capable of? What would he be planning in the future? And why? And if he was colluding with Voldemort's enemies in the future, could he trust his own decisions now?

His brain was beginning to ache. How to make sense of all this and anticipate the events that would profoundly affect his future? He had to get more information from the girl. He ran through his notes again and, this time, he noticed a pattern.

Hermione seemed rather taken with him. His Legilimency had confirmed that. He had noticed several instances when her cheeks would pink up when she was thinking of something about his future self – or when he stood a bit too close to her. Was it just that her memory of him as an authority figure in her future swayed her opinion of him? That seemed the source of her respect. But why would that cause her to blush? Could she be attracted to him? If so, he could certainly use that to his advantage. Perhaps he could . . . persuade . . . her to put more of her trust in him.

That might be a promising avenue of inquiry.

Now he turned his thoughts to carrying out the Dark Lord's assignment: uncovering what the Department of Mysteries knows about the time-traveling artifacts that have been found. During the summer he spent at the Malfoy's, he had met several Ministry officials who had significant leanings toward the Dark Lord's objectives. One was now an Unspeakable – a wizard who works in the Department of Mysteries. Although Snape knew Unspeakables were under heavy protective charms so that they could not reveal the nature of their work, he suspected there might be a way around these protections. And he had modified a spell in order to aid contacting the particular wizard he had in mind. It might be a bit tricky, but Snape thought he could pull it off and since his other contact was now useless to him, it was time to give it a try.

And time to check up on his apprentice.

* * *

Hermione was just stoppering the last phial of _Elixir to Induce Euphoria_ when she heard Professor Snape's – Severus' – footsteps on the cellar stairs. He stepped up next to her as she racked that phial with the rest. A sparkling row of elegantly cut crystal glowed with the golden light of the potion she had just finished. She looked up at him, so pleased that he had trusted her to brew this on her own. He was watching her intently. Feeling warmth suffuse her cheeks, she quickly reached for a phial and handed it to him. His warm fingers seemed to linger against hers as he received the potion.

He removed the stopple and sniffed delicately at the potion.

"Very good, Miss . . . ah . . . Hermione," he said, smiling down at her.

Hermione tried not to glow.

"And I see you've tidied up as well," he said, glancing at the workbench and taking in the rest of the lab.

"As you've taught me to, sir . . . um . . . Severus." She was going to have to practice using his name so it wouldn't feel so uncomfortable.

"Yes, well, I'm pleased that you took – take – my lessons to heart." He resealed the phial and leaned across her to return it to the rack with the others. His arm brushed against hers in the process. "Sloppy workspaces make for sloppy potions."

"Yes it does, Severus." There, that came out better.

"I have an appointment to keep and while I'm gone, I'd like you to make another double batch of this same potion. That should keep Fortescue happy for a couple of weeks. Can you do that for me, Hermione?"

He was standing close again and she could feel his eyes upon her. She suddenly felt shy and didn't want to look up at him, but she made herself do so – she wasn't going to let this younger Professor Snape intimidate her. She was sure her cheeks were an embarrassingly rich shade of fuschia.

"Not a problem, Severus." She gazed steadily into his eyes.

"Thank you. I am certain I shall return before you are finished. I will pick something up for dinner as well."

Without another word, he turned on his heel, robes flowing about him, and headed for the stairs. She heard the muffled "pop" of Disapparation and sighed. What the hell was wrong with her whenever he was around?

* * *

Snape placed his wand to his temple and cast the spell he had modified - _Homenum Revelio Videre_ – he whispered the incantation to give it a bit more power. Now he alone would be able to see Disillusioned Department of Mysteries workers – Unspeakables – as they left the Ministry of Magic. One such worker strode from the concealed exit that appeared to be a passageway between two Muggle buildings and Snape could see her faint outlines as she squeezed between two Muggles who appeared to be solid by comparison. His spell was working quite well, but this woman wasn't his target.

After a few minutes, the wizard he wanted to track exited the building. Snape Disillusioned himself – the cold, clammy spell washing over his body – and took up a position about 10 feet behind Augustus Rookwood. He followed for a few blocks as the Unspeakable headed for the Leaky Cauldron. The man continued through the pub and out the back door to the courtyard from which Diagon Alley could be accessed. Snape slipped in behind him before the bricks reformed the wall that kept Muggles out. Rookwood immediately ducked into a dim alley – just as Snape hoped he would.

The alley was dark, deserted and convoluted. Rounding a turn, again as Snape hoped, the dim outline of Rookwood had vanished. He stopped.

"I am Disillusioned not to hide from you, but to hide our meeting from others," he spoke low, though his voice was raised above that of a whisper. Rookwood's voice came from a darkened doorway a few feet ahead of him.

"Is that so?" The older man also kept his voice low, but there was a harshness that Snape had not remembered from when he had met Rookwood at the Malfoy's.

"Yes, sir," Snape said, hoping the respectful tone he took would set the man at ease.

"And why would I be wanting to meet with you?"

"I happen to know that you commiserate with our cause," Snape replied. "I was simply curious if your sympathies had advanced to the point where you might consider joining us." And to emphasize his willingness to discuss the matter, he removed his Disillusionment Charm. Although Snape couldn't see Rookwood in the doorway, it was in that direction he addressed his remarks. "Mine is a simple request and one which you do not have to grant." He turned to go. After five paces, he thought his plan had failed, but Rookwood cleared his throat.

"You are aware that I could not give the Dark Lord any direct information about what I do for the Department of Mysteries, aren't you?"

Snape smiled as he stopped. When he turned back to the Unspeakable, the smile was gone.

"Yes, sir," he replied. "But I think I have discovered a way around that particular problem."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I had wanted to post updates sooner, but 1) I caught a bad flu while at Harry Potter World Orlando and 2) this proved to be a difficult chapter to write.

The difficulty writing, methinks, was because Severus' mind works much more incisively than mine and I'm trying to be true to his nature (but, hey – we are both Slytherin so it wasn't as hard as it could have been!)

HPWO was incredible! I did break down and purchase an interactive wand (Severus Snape's, of course) and there are about twenty places in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley where it can be used. It comes in a case which is then packaged in an elegant, pure black bag with "Ollivanders" in gold lettering down its length. I was almost more impressed with that bag than with the wand! The Gringott's ride was my favorite and the turret outside the bank is topped with the Gringott's dragon the trio used to escape the caverns and every ten minutes it breathes REAL fire! So impressive! Every HP fan should get the chance to visit. Go in February – it's cheaper and the lines are short.


	8. Chapter 8: Ruse and Consequence

Chapter 8: Ruse and Consequence

* * *

"Pizza!"

"One of my favorite Muggle meals. You?"

"Definitely! My family used to have pizza night once a month. Mum would make the dough and Dad and I would slice up the toppings and grate the cheese. It was as much fun making the pizza as eating it!"

 _So, she is Muggle-born,_ Snape thought. Pointing that out would only reveal his ruse to elicit information from her and put her on guard against such future tactics he might find useful. _Muggle-born, just like Lily_. That thought poured ice down his spine. He must always remember Lily's betrayal and ensure that he never allowed himself to get entangled in such a situation again.

They were sitting at the tiny table in his tiny kitchen and even with every sconce fully lit, it still provided a rather muted ambiance. He had conjured a second chair for her and they sat across the table from each other, the pizza box open between them. The comforting fragrance of hot cheese, pepperoni and assorted other toppings set an aura of relaxation he hoped conducive to the subtle extraction of information.

"So you actually walked into a Muggle joint and ordered pizza?" She asked, while her eyes casually strayed toward his robes. "Dressed like that?"

Snape smiled and stood up, pulling his robes from his shoulders. He folded them in half and then laid them over his forearm. It could easily have been an overcoat. He opened his arms and looked down at his clothing: a long, black frock coat, black trousers and black boots.

"Perhaps a bit formal, but not so out of the ordinary that anyone would take note."

"You know, eventually you broaden your color choices beyond black," she said, smiling up at him.

"I find that a highly unlikely scenario," he replied and deftly hid the fact that he was pleased that she was talking about the future.

"You do. The robes are always black, but you diversify into purple and blue for your coat and trousers."

"Such riotous colors? Now I know you're making that up."

"Well, deep aubergine and dark navy. Almost black, but not quite."

"Ah."

"And more buttons. Lots more buttons. Up your entire sleeve and about a dozen up the front."

"You were that enthralled with my attire?" he queried and studied her face carefully when even the dim sconce-light showed the blush blooming on her cheeks. Did she have a thing for her Professor Snape? Her eyes were studying her piece of pizza rather intently at the moment and that spoke volumes. He laid his robes over the back of his seat and sat down again.

"You wear the same thing every day and I've had hundreds of classes with you. It becomes noticeable when something is different."

"Well, it's obvious that you paid attention in those classes – the potions you made this afternoon were as close to perfect as I'd expect anyone but myself to make." He hoped the praise would make a difference. It did.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted to hear you say that," Hermione said quietly, still studying her pizza. Then she took a small bite and smiled at him, evidently quite pleased with herself.

"Am I really that much of a bastard as a teacher?" he asked.

"You're very strict – which I think is needed in potions class because it can be so dangerous when students don't pay attention. But you've also got an edge to you that can turn quite nasty."

"Food for thought," he replied. He watched her take a few more bites, waiting to see if she had anything to add. Apparently not. New topic.

"I have an appointment tomorrow morning. Would you be so kind as to deliver the _Elixir_ to Fortescue's? He prefers that I Apparate to his cellar Saturday morning, 8 am, before the store opens so no one catches on about his secret ingredient. He will meet you with a small sack of galleons for payment. Ten galleons. Count it before you return."

"You trust me to leave the house on my own?"

 _No_ , he thought, _it's a test_. But, of course, he wouldn't reveal that ruse either. Instead, he shrugged.

"You proved yourself trustworthy earlier today when I had to meet with the Dark Lord. It seems a wise move on your part to remain as my apprentice—for now. So, although I may not as yet trust you completely," he said, glancing for a moment at her hideous Gryffindor jumper, "I trust in your desperate situation." If he pretended to have too much faith in her too quickly, she might grow suspicious of his motives. He was walking a fine line here.

"How do I Apparate to a place I've never been?"

"Easily enough resolved. Legilimens me. I can show you what it looks like."

"That spell always seemed an invasion of privacy to me," she said and tucked an errant strand of brown hair behind her ear.

"Occlumens, remember? You won't be able to see anything I don't want you to."

She considered a moment, taking another bite of pizza, and then pulled her wand from her sleeve and pointed it at his chest.

"Right here," he corrected and prodded the middle of his forehead with an index finger. He roused the memory of Fortescue's cellar in his mind – the single, dim sconce, the arrangement of the shelves, the large workbench against one wall, sacks of supplies – and shut out every other thought.

" _Legilimens_ ," she intoned and a barely perceptible . . . aubergine . . .flash emanated from her wand. He felt the shimmery transfer of the mental image he held in his mind.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "That was rather simple."

Snape eased the grip he had on his wand, which was pointed at her under the table. If anything had come out of her mouth that hadn't started with an 'L', she would have found herself flat on the floor.

"Indeed."

She smiled at his use of that word as if it were an old friend. This conversation was turning out to be relatively easy to pull off. She seemed quite comfortable with him.

He picked up a slice of pizza, bit off the tip, folded the rest in half and took another bite.

"That's exactly how my father eats pizza," she commented.

"Sensible man."

"You know what we're missing?" she queried as if he did. "Rootbeer!"

She stood and went to the tiny cabinet near the sink, took out two small glasses and filled them with water. Returning to the table, she drew her wand. Fortunately, he was able to control his flinch at that movement. Tapping each glass, she transfigured them into mugs. Then she changed the water into, apparently, rootbeer. Next, the mugs sported a frosty film of rime. He hefted one, nodded to her, and took a swig.

"Well done!" he complimented her again. When she smiled at him this time, that particular look of admiration was in her eyes and he knew she was thinking of his future self. He almost felt a twinge of jealousy.

* * *

Hermione was up and out of bed before her Alarm Charm went off. She hurried to the bathroom, one door down from her room, determined to take a quick shower and make breakfast before Severus got up. Hot water from the showerhead efficiently steamed up the tiny room before she had even lathered up. No matter, she made short work of her toilette and was clean and presentable, although of necessity dressed in the same clothes she had on when she landed in Knockturn Alley.

She whipped up breakfast from ingredients she found in the icebox – a lonely egg, a dried bit of cheddar and a sprouting potato, which she multiplied and then transformed into a couple of hearty omelets stuffed with goat cheese and sautéed mushrooms and onions. Humming tunelessly as she worked, she reflected on the success of last night's dinner. She had been able to put him at his ease and conversation had flowed effortlessly. She had hope of a repeat performance for breakfast.

Yesterday, she had remembered something he had said to her the night she had arrived here – that Voldemort was interested in time-travel. Could it be that Severus was tasked with researching that topic for the evil wizard? There was no one better qualified or more intelligent than Professor Snape to delve into such a subject. And if that were the case, was there anything he knew that could help her get home? Since she really didn't have anything else to do, it was worth taking the time to find out. But she would have to do it in so subtle a manner that he would not guess what she was after.

She was surprised when he entered the kitchen from the hall instead of coming down the stairs. Apparently, he had arisen before she had.

"Smells delicious," he commented, looking over her shoulder at the meal she had prepared. To have Professor Snape's deep, silky voice speak right into her ear caused shivers to skip down her spine. She tried to shake off the sensation without him noticing. "Shall we dine in the library this morning?" he added and, without waiting for an answer, conjured two trays and they carried their repast into the room to which he had Apparated her barely thirty-six hours ago. So much had changed in so little time.

Severus took the chair and she the couch and, balancing their trays upon their laps, they began breakfast.

"You are welcome to read any of the books in my library, but ask me first before removing any of those from their places." He waved his fork toward where two bookshelves were crammed into a corner. Hermione noted a familiar tome – _The Monster Book of Monsters_ – and understood his reasoning before he voiced it. "There are tricks to reading them safely."

"Of course," she agreed, and then noticed the buttons on his sleeve. And down the front of his jacket. They had multiplied overnight. He had changed a personal preference upon her word alone. Why? To see if she would notice? To show that he believed what she said about the future? To prove she had influence over him? Trying to track his intentions would give her fits. _He's Slytherin_ , she reminded herself, _and I may never fathom his motives_. Might as well drag the issue to the surface. Like a Gryffindor.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice the buttons, Severus?" she said quietly. "Or are you testing me again?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her and then grinned.

"It is actually a test for me," he said casually. "I spelled more button on my coat this morning to see if I would like the difference. So far, I think it looks rather classy and distinctive. I might keep them."

Conversation lapsed for a few minutes while they ate and Hermione marked that the silence was a comfortable one. Neither felt pressure to fill the moment with words. She looked around the room again at all the books. She could spend a lifetime sitting right where she was now.

"I usually spend several hours each morning reading and studying in here," he said. "You are welcome to do so as well, if you would like."

"That would be ideal," she replied. "That is my usual morning habit as well – before classes began for the day."

She could feel him watch her as she cut several pieces from her omelet preparatory to eating them. When she glanced up, he asked her the question that was obviously on his mind.

"No offense intended, but you seem a bit too intelligent to have been sorted into Gryffindor."

"None taken. The Sorting Hat almost put me into Ravenclaw."

"That was my experience as well."

"I think I received a different house because I wasn't . . ."

". . . eccentric enough," Severus finished her sentence.

"That's the polite way to put it," Hermione rejoined.

"But Gryffindor?" he pressed.

"What? I don't strike you as brave and courageous?"

"Euphemisms for impulsive and foolhardy," he scoffed.

"No offense intended, but my experience is that Slytherin House is an exclusive gang whose members persecute Muggle-borns."

"Family."

"Excuse me?"

"Slytherin House is more like a family. Once sorted there, you are immediately accepted as part of that family, no questions asked. Every Slytherin has every other Slytherin's back. There are no cliques and no one is ostracized. If you want actual gang mentality, you'll have to look to Gryffindor."

Hermione shifted uneasily under her tray. Her own rejection by her dormmates had been a disappointment she had barely been able to bear until she became friends with Ron and Harry. Her disgust as these girls suddenly became chummy with her because her best mate was the Boy Who Lived, had barely diminished over the years. And then there were the . . .

"Marauders. That's what one Gryffindor gang called themselves during my time at Hogwarts. The sole reason for their existence seemed to be to attack me at every opportunity. I recall being in the infirmary almost as often as I was in class because of their so-called pranks."

"From what I heard, you gave as good as you got," Hermione said.

"Such behavior left unanswered encourages more of the same," Severus said with a smirk. "I once slipped their leader a potion that made his hair fall out and then grow back bright pink and curly. He was quite a sight for several months, but it was well earned. Their taunts were incessant."

"They called you Snivellus," Hermione said quietly, remembering when Sirius confronted Professor Snape in the Shrieking Shack. She stabbed a bite of omelet with her fork. "I always thought that malicious and totally inappropriate."

Now the silence was very uncomfortable. She looked up at him and he was staring at her as if his gaze alone could drill through her skull. His jaw had tightened and it was apparent that he was not pleased with her comment.

"Very few people know the Marauder's nickname for you and none of them ever refer to you in that manner – even behind your back. You are a well-respected teacher and Head of House, Severus."

That seemed to mollify him after a few moments and he returned to his breakfast. Hermione cursed herself for being so careless. Of course, a comment like that would upset him. But he had a way about him that put her at her ease and thoughts she never intended to voice just seemed to pop out of her. In that way, he was very different from the Professor Snape she knew in the future.

Finished with his meal, Severus set aside the tray and picked up a book from the end table nearest to where he sat, removed a silvered bookmark and began reading. Hermione set her tray aside as well and stood. She remembered seeing an interesting tome the night she had been tied up on this very same couch. Over . . . there. Walking to the bookshelf, she eased the volume from betwixt its mates and cracked the cover. It was a rare edition on ancient runes that she had been unable to find at the Hogwarts library. She wondered what secrets it had to share.

For two solid hours, the two of them lounged in the library, engrossed by their respective books. It was heavenly, not to be interrupted every fifteen minutes with questions about homework assignments, as was the case when she was at school.

When she heard his book snap shut, she looked up.

"Time to pull ourselves from our study and get on with the day," he said as wistfully as she felt.

"I suppose," she agreed with a sigh.

As they stood up, she saw him frown at her jumper and pull his wand. Once again, the golden lion was gone and a silver snake took its place.

"Take a few galleons from Fortescue's payment and get yourself some decent robes after you drop off the _Elixir_ ," he said, barely able to keep contempt from tingeing his voice. He glanced at her, but she smiled, not in the least offended. He smirked back. "It really is hideous."

"One Gryffindor's treasure is another Slytherin's trash," she modified the idiom.

"Black robes," he cautioned as she left the library.

"Of course," she confirmed.

"Ten galleons," his voice chased after her as she made her way down the hall.

"Ten galleons," she echoed and stepped down the stairs into the lab to get the potion.

* * *

Snape listened for the sound of her Disapparation, quickly Disillusioned himself and then turned on his own heel. Last night, after she went to bed, he had Apparated to Fortescue's cellar and fortified one corner of it with silencing spells and a screen of invisibility. That's where he Apparated to now and watched.

The girl was already there. Fortescue could be heard stumping around overhead in his shop and Snape knew he would be down here any minute. The girl waited patiently, looking about the wide room with interest. She poked a sack of sugar with her wand and then slightly lifted the lid of a cauldron from which a pale green mist puffed out. She wrinkled her nose at the odor and muttered "I hope he doesn't use _that_ in his ice cream."

Loud footsteps on the stairs announced Florean Fortescue's arrival. Before he had even completed the staircase he caught sight of the stranger in his cellar and pulled his wand. Hermione lifted the rack of phials to show him.

"I'm Severus Snape's new apprentice," she explained. "He asked me to make the delivery today."

"Without letting me know?"

"Well, he's such an impulsive man, you know," Hermione quipped, but Fortescue just looked at her like she had a screw loose. Snape smirked. Her sarcasm had completely escaped the ice cream maker.

He took the rack of potions and set them down next to the lidded cauldron. Dipping into his apron, he pulled a small, heavy sack from a pocket and handed it to her. She went to stuff it into the pocket of her jeans, but the man grunted.

"Aren't you going to count it?"

"Um, well, yes sir. As soon as I . . ."

"Count it in front of me – that way we both know it's the right amount."

"Right," she said and emptied the sack into her hand. The gold flashed in the dim light as she counted, out loud, each galleon back into the bag. Ten galleons.

"Good," Fortescue said. "See you, or Severus, in two weeks."

She Disapparated and Fortescue went back to work. Earlier, when he had charmed the girl's jumper, he had also included a spell of his own devising to track her Apparitions. He closed his eyes now and pointed his wand at the place she had disappeared. He waited several moments and then followed the image that floated in his mind's eye.

Snape saw her disappear around a corner. He recognized the building in front of him as the back side of Madam Malkin's. Robes, as he had instructed her. So far, so good. Still Disillusioned, he made his way down the alley at the side of the shop and stopped at the first window he came to. From this vantage point, he couldn't see her enter the store, but a moment or two later she came into view stepping up to a rack of robes. He thought this was where his stake out would get tedious, but she surprised him as she immediately tugged two sets of robes off their hangers and took them to the counter to purchase. The girl certainly was sure of what she wanted. They were black too.

He stayed where he was as she left the shop and watched as she returned down the alley heading to the spot where she had Apparated. He studied her as she strolled past him, a robe-filled Madam Malkin's sack in hand.

Hermione Granger was a petite little thing, not even tall enough to reach his shoulder. Lithe, confident and energetic as she walked down the alley, he now needed to know if she were trustworthy. He watched as she Disapparated and then pointed his wand at that spot to see where she had gone.

It was not Spinners End.

* * *

.

 **Author's Note:** Thank you for reading and reviewing! My flu has passed (except for an annoying, lingering cough, as is typical) and my goal is to post a new chapter once a week.


	9. Chapter 9: Corday Blankenship

Chapter 9: Corday Blankenship

* * *

The squeezing blackness of Apparition ended with a pop and . . . a slight sense of familiarity.

Snape had waited almost a full minute before following the girl, to ensure that she did not hear his arrival. Now he had to find her. He was in an alleyway that looked wizard-built, which was probably why his surroundings seemed familiar. Still Disillusioned, he followed the narrow slit between the buildings and the only possible route the girl could have taken.

As he approached the intersection of the alleyway and what appeared to be a larger street, his sense of familiarity blossomed into full recognition. She had Apparated to Hogsmeade. Snape made his way to the end of the alley. Hogsmeade was the closest town to Hogwarts and Hogwarts meant Dumbledore. Was that where she was headed?

Looking to his left, toward where the turrets of the school could be seen above the buildings and trees of the town, he scanned the folk strolling about the street. He could not see anyone matching her description heading in that direction. Then he scanned right and caught glimpse of the girl just as she entered a shop about three buildings down. He hurried after her.

There were only a few shops left on this street before the town petered out into an unpopulated country road – almost as far from Hogwarts as one could get. Why Apparate here? Could she be meeting a contact? Would that even be possible? He had conclusive evidence that she had traveled into the past. He was also reasonably certain that her time-travel had been accidental – or at least she had not known what was happening to her when it occurred. If she knew precisely where someone was going to be in the past, could she intercept them? But how likely was that?

As Snape approached, he saw that the store was a greengrocer. The shop's double doors stood open to the public and many witches and wizards entered and exited. He stood back and waited a few moments so that he could slip inside without bumping into anyone. Quickly spotting her by a table piled high with oranges, he cozied up to a bit of wall that offered him a comprehensive view of the store as well as being out of the path of most shoppers. She selected three oranges and plopped them into a grocer sack she must have snagged as she had entered.

He watched her intently as she moved about the aisles and among the tables picking up a cabbage here and a few peppers there. At no time did it appear that she was looking for anyone in particular, though she did smile at an elderly witch when they both reached for the same head of lettuce. Then she moved quickly to the back of the shop – where the potatoes were kept.

Of all natural foodstuffs, the potato was the easiest to magically duplicate and transform into any other edible. They could be turned into vegetables, fruits, meats, grains - anything that a witch or wizard could imagine. Plus, they kept well. Hence, the wizarding world supported a thriving market in potatoes. Hermione scooped up what looked like a twenty-pound sack of the tubers and then headed for the checkout.

That was it. No clandestine meeting with someone she knew in the future. No contact with lurking spies who would run off with information to Voldemort or Dumbledore. Unless she had slipped the elderly witch a secret note near the lettuce section – doubtful – there was no treachery here. Snape headed for the exit, waited for her to finish and then followed her back out into the street.

Hermione went down some other alley behind an adjacent building and Disapparated from Hogsmeade. When Snape used his wand to see where she had gone, the familiar layout and furnishings of his kitchen met his mind's eye. Relief flooded through him and he leaned his back against the alley wall and let his head bump against the hard bricks behind him.

Snape just realized now, for the first time, how wound up he had been since he had found the witch in Knockturn Alley. He could tone down the paranoia a notch – at least with Hermione Granger.

* * *

"Corday, this is Severus Snape. Severus, Corday Blankenship," Augustus Rookwood sat down at a creaky table as Snape shook Blankenship's hand. The two men joined Rookwood, taking seats on either side of him. They had decided to meet at the Leaky Cauldron for an early lunch and discuss the possibility of contracting with Snape for a potions job. The whole idea had been Snape's, but Rookwood had presented it to Blankenship as his own. That was part of Snape's plan as well.

All three of them looked up as Tom approached their table. All three of them ordered the special of the day, just as everyone else always did. Snape wondered why Tom ever bothered to ask.

"Augustus tells me you might need a specialized preservation potion," Snape began, addressing Blankenship.

"I need to know your qualifications before we discuss any specifics," Blankenship said.

"Top potions student when I graduated Hogwarts," Snape replied. "Horace Slughorn can vouch for that."

"Slughorn is a Slytherin," Blankenship countered.

"As am I," Snape said softly. Blankenship's jaw tightened and he threw Rookwood a nasty look. Augustus held up a hand.

"I've checked around, Corday – he's one of the best potion masters out there and not just for rote formulation. He designs original potions as well as making significant improvements on existing ones. He already has two contracts with the Ministry of Magic and several with Hogwarts. Even Albus Dumbledore gives his seal of approval."

"I don't require specifics about what you are doing," Snape interjected nonchalantly – Blankenship need not be alerted to how much Snape wanted this to work. "Just specifics about what you want the potion to do."

Blankenship looked conflicted. He obviously needed the type of assistance Snape could provide, as Snape suspected and had counted on, but he was having trouble with his being Slytherin, as so many people did. That pernicious prejudice is what gave Lord Voldemort his following.

"I have some very fragile parchments that need to be conserved. They contain writing that might be valuable at some point – we're not sure yet – and that writing needs to remain undisturbed, or improved, by the preservation process."

"Was the parchment made before 1750?" Snape queried.

"What does that matter?" Blankenship shot back.

"After 1750 parchment was made with different potions as coatings to increase longevity and better retain the ink used on them," Snape explained simply. "Not taking that into account might destroy what you are attempting to save."

Blankenship did not reply, but sat there in an almost churlish silence.

"I can see you do not wish to engage my services," Snape said and stood to leave. "I'll not waste any more of your time, or mine. I have plenty of work to attend to as it is." He turned to Rookwood and offered his hand. "Augustus, thank you for considering me for your project. If I come across any potioneers that might be suitable for this job, I'll pass their information on to you. At this juncture, I know of none. Good day." He nodded cordially to Blankenship, whose face looked like it was wrestling with resignation.

He approached the bar and Tom, filling a mug with butterbeer for another customer, glanced at him.

"Make mine to go, Tom," Snape said and dipped into a pocket for payment. He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Changed his mind?" Snape asked of Rookwood and turned to face him.

"That he has – just as you predicted," Rookwood confirmed in a low voice. Snape shook his head, set his jaw and glared at the man in front of him – he wanted Blankenship to think he was now rejecting the proposition.

"Now do your best to convince me to return, Augustus," Snape said, in an even lower voice, encouraging the man to maintain the farce.

"We actually do need your help, Severus," Rookwood said and Snape looked up at him in surprise. "This could be a very important discovery and I really did look into your background. Slughorn told me you were the most innovative potion maker he has ever encountered."

Normally, Snape would have been pleased with this praise. Now, he grappled with the suspicion that Rookwood had been playing _him_ ; that the Unspeakable had pretended to be interested in joining the Dark Lord so that he could manipulate Snape into assisting with this project. Either Snape was succumbing to extreme paranoia, again, or he was exercising appropriate caution. How to tell the difference?

"And the information garnered might assist the Dark Lord as well," Rookwood's voice was nearly a whisper. Did Rookwood sense his hesitation? That would not do. He would have to watch him closely for signs of double-dealing. Now genuinely hesitant to return to negotiations with Corday Blankenship, Snape slowly headed back to the table but stood solemnly behind the chair he had previously occupied.

"You don't need to know about the project we are working on?"

"No. I only need to know the parameters pertaining to the actual parchments."

As Blankenship considered, Tom came with their meals. Snape's food was in a sack, which he exchanged for a few coins, determined not to stay any longer than needed.

"Okay, then," Blankenship finally conceded. "Bring us your preservation potion and if is effective, we will purchase it from you."

"I'm afraid that's not how it works. Would you donate three to four weeks of your time to the Ministry of Magic and not expect to draw a salary during that period? You do not want a standard potion that can be brewed in a day or two. This is a new formulation that will require research, experimentation - quite a bit of labor. And one for which demand will likely be low. I'm in this for the money - it's my livelihood. I will need a weekly stipend until I can design the appropriate formulation. Fortunately for you, I am very good at what I do and it shouldn't take too long."

By emphasizing a reason that Snape wanted the job – money – and insisting on payment, he hoped to deflect Blankenship from imagining another reason he might want to be involved with the project. It worked.

"Done," Blankenship said, consenting with consternation.

"Do you have a scrap or two of the parchment in question that I could experiment on? That would be ideal and the safest procedure."

"Unfortunately, we have quite a few scraps. That is why we will be forced to hire you."

Snape conjured a small piece of new parchment and a self-inking quill. He quickly scratched out some information and handed it to Blankenship.

"Twenty galleons a week to be deposited into that account at Gringotts. Send the parchment samples to the listed address. I have an apprentice now, so someone will be available to receive your parcel."

Blankenship's nod was curt.

"Before or after 1750?" Snape asked again.

"Before," Blankenship said flatly.

"Enjoy your lunch, gentlemen. It is a pleasure doing business with you," Snape said, turned and strode out of the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

Hermione placed the parchment upon which Severus had scratched out the ingredients and instructions for Pepper-Up Potion on the workbench in the potions lab. The handwriting was a peculiar combination between the tiny, cramped lettering in the Advanced Potions textbook belonging to the Half-blood Prince and what she recognized as _her_ Professor Snape's familiar spidery writing on his chalkboard during Potions class. No wonder she, Harry and Ron had never made the connection between the two. She paused a moment and considered whether she should mention this to Severus. No. Some things in the future just had to work themselves out on their own.

Watching him across the workbench, she studied his features: the pale skin, black hair and eyes and the furrowed concentration as he listed, on parchment, possible ingredients for his new project. He had used a strip of leather to tie his hair back and seeing the ponytail for the first time had made her realize that she had never seen her Professor Snape brew a single potion.

Hermione began assembling the ingredients on her list and the equipment to carry out the instructions. Something seemed off. She had seen recipes for Pepper-Up before and this version had a lower dose of black pepper. Substantially lower.

"Severus?"

"Hm?" He didn't look up from his parchment.

"Isn't black pepper the active ingredient for Pepper-Up?"

"It is."

"There doesn't seem to be enough in this recipe."

"Ah. And do you think we are making it too far ahead of the cold and flu season?"

"Now that you mention it, we probably are."

"That's why," he replied. Oh, she just loved it when he went cryptic on her.

"Elucidate, please," she requested.

It took a fancy word, but that made him look up.

"The potion is more efficacious and there are fewer side effects if it ages several months before use. If you need some in a pinch, the maturing process can be replaced with an increased amount of pepper. The recipe you saw likely came from a lazy potion maker who preferred to dispense with that vital step altogether." He went back to his list.

She glanced at his youthful face and shook her head. Was he born knowing all this? Such a fierce and exacting intelligence he had.

"I see you procured a new wardrobe," he continued.

"Yes. Madam Malkin's shop is still arranged exactly like it is now so it was easy to find the type and size I wear."

"Apparently, there were no problems with Fortescue?"

"He seemed a bit put out that I delivered the potion instead of you, but otherwise, none," she replied. "Oh, here's what's left of his payment." She reached into a pocket, pulled out the sack the ice cream maker had given her and laid it at the end of the workbench – out of both of their ways.

Severus had looked up from his work when she mentioned the galleons and now seemed to be studying her.

"Oh – I also stopped and bought some food. I think I used the last of what was left making breakfast this morning," she added. He gave her a half a smirk and seemed to relax somehow.

"Thank you for your thoughtfulness," he said and seemed pleased that she had taken the initiative to restock their larder.

Hermione began prepping her ingredients – grinding the precise amount of pepper, mincing an ashwinder egg with a silver knife, and crushing billywig stings, to start. She set up her cauldron and nudged a low fire under it with her wand. Adding a silent _Aguamenti_ spell, she filled the vessel with warm water and sprinkled each ingredient across the surface, waiting 10 seconds between additions. As it simmered, she went to the shelves on the long side of the room and procured a bottle of salamander blood. Pulling a set of scales from under the workbench, she tared a watch glass and then added weights preparatory to precisely measuring that stickiest of ingredients. She removed the stopper.

"You didn't calibrate your scale," Severus interrupted.

"You did it Monday morning, as always," she replied, glancing over at him. "And so it should still be accurate." Then she grinned at him. "At least that's what I've been told."

Although his lips were pursed and his jaw set, there was merriment in his eyes.

"You have learned well," he said.

"Your teaching was quite thorough," she returned and bent over the scale, ready to decant the salamander blood onto the watch glass.

"Miss Granger!"

She startled so badly she almost dropped the bottle. The nervous, churning reaction she always had when the Hogwarts Potion Master so sharply upbraided his students returned full force and she jerked her attention toward _that_ voice.

But the expected angry glare of consternation that she expected to see was not there. Instead, Severus' face wore an expression of mock horror.

"P-Professor?" In her apprehension, she reverted to a Hogwarts schoolgirl, first year.

"I am quite certain I would never have allowed _that_ ," he protested and leaned across the workbench toward her. With long fingers, he gently took the lock of hair that had escaped her tie and pushed it back from her cheek. Pressing the errant strand behind her ear, she felt a tingle as he must have cast a charm to keep it in place – or was it just his touch that evoked such a response from her? His intense concentration on this simple task hinted at other than potion-brewing protocol.

Her eyes caught his as he removed his hand and she watched them as they scanned her face and returned to her own, black meeting brown. There would be no way he could miss the rosy glow she felt blooming on her cheeks. _Breathe, Hermione_ , she told herself and did so. It came out as a sigh. The glow heated up and she looked down, disconcerted.

"There," he stated matter-of-factly. "You may proceed."

"Hm? Oh – oh, yes," she said quickly and picked up the bottle of salamander blood she could not recall having set down.

As she slowly tipped the bottle and the contents slid onto the waiting watch glass, her hands were shaking, but for a different reason now. Somehow, she was careful enough to pour a sufficient amount of blood to put the scale in balance without spilling it onto the pan itself. She slipped the watch glass into the fledgling potion, watching as it fluttered to the bottom, dispersing the blood throughout.

Her rattled nerves settled as she made 12 clockwise stirs and then fished the watch glass out of the cauldron. Between quick glances at Severus – who was again completely preoccupied with his own project – and watching for her potion to turn magenta, she wondered how this man had turned into bitter, old Professor Snape. What would happen to him that wiped out all laughter and good humor from his countenance? Was it spying on the Death Eaters for Dumbledore? Was it joining with Voldemort's cause in the first place? She pondered this over the next hour as she finished her first batch of Pepper-Up.

After cleaning up and starting a second batch, another glance across the workbench showed Severus rolling his quill between his fingers. Since his furious scribbling had subsided, she decided to hazard interrupting him.

"So you almost sorted Ravenclaw?"

"Yes. It wasn't quite a hatstall, but the old bonnet seriously contemplated that house for a while."

"But you wanted Slytherin, didn't you?"

"It was the house that I had dreamt of for as long as I could remember," he said. "I'd found my mother's copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ in the attic and learned about the different houses. Slytherin appealed to me the most."

"But why?" she asked. "They hate and persecute Muggle-borns and I suspect they scorn half-bloods as well."

"I was accepted completely," Severus said. "And I knew several Muggle-borns sorted to Slytherin and none of them had problems."

The way in which he related that comment reminded Hermione of what he had said about Slytherin this morning – that they were more like a family than a gang. Had Severus Snape needed a family?

He tilted his head slightly, studied her thoughtfully and then added. "My best friend was Muggle-born."

"Was?" she asked. "He's no longer your friend?"

"My friend was sorted Gryffindor. That eventually drove us apart."

"Because he was Gryffindor or because you were Slytherin?" she asked pointedly. When several moments went by without an answer, Hermione added, "Or because you became a Death Eater?"

"We parted ways in fifth year. I didn't join the Dark Lord until after I graduated."

Since he seemed amenable to the direction this conversation was headed, Hermione decided to push it a bit.

"It didn't bother you that . . . the Dark Lord . . . was evil?"

"He teaches that there is no good or evil only . . ."

". . . power and those too weak to seek it," she finished for him and then added softly, "What if a loved one is too weak to seek power? Or is not interested in that kind of competition? Do they deserve to be enslaved or murdered by your Dark Lord? How will you feel when that loved one becomes threatened by such teachings?"

Her words seemed to have no effect on him; he stood there looking at her as though he could not comprehend her meaning. A sudden flash of insight overwhelmed Hermione and realization set her thoughts afire. Severus had no loved ones. The closest thing he had to family was his fellow Slytherins, most of whom supported Voldemort. To leave the Death Eaters, he would have to betray everyone he cared about. And yet, she knew this man was going to do precisely that. She attempted to swallow the lump forming in her throat. Since he would be able to read those sentiments in her eyes, she bent her head to check her potion. After a few more moments of silence, he spoke.

"The Dark Lord watches out for his own. He has begun with protecting and benefiting Slytherins, for which I am quite grateful," he said and glanced about the lab. "Eventually, when the rest of the wizarding world gets behind him, we will make ourselves known to Muggles and they will be integrated into _our_ society, rather than us having to hide from theirs. Everyone will benefit."

"Right now he seems to be benevolently leading the Slytherins to a better life," Hermione said, "but eventually the true meaning of his teachings will become clear when he starts destroying everything around him in his selfish pursuit of power. He doesn't care about anyone, Severus."

"This is what's happening in your time?"

"For the most part, yes," she said. "And as I have mentioned, you decide to help Dumbledore stop him," she added quietly, hopefully. He studied her for a few moments and then returned to his task.

Somewhat dejected, Hermione resumed her work as well. She was able to brew three more batches of Pepper-Up as evening crept up on them and then Severus called a halt to the day's work. He moved the new bottles of potion into a storage cabinet at the back of the lab as she finished cleaning up the workbench, stowing the scales and the cauldron and returning ingredients to their proper shelves. He made a quick dinner, pasties, and they ate just as quickly at the tiny table in the kitchen, in silence.

"What do you have planned for tomorrow, Severus?" she asked when the pasties were gone.

"Sunday is a day of rest," he said.

"I had no idea you were the religious type."

"I'm religiously devoted to a complete day of study, research or just good old-fashioned reading. I usually end up spending the entire day in my library."

"Well then, I best get a good night's rest so that I can more fully enjoy a very pleasant tomorrow." She took her plate, preparing to stand, but he interrupted.

"One last thing," he said and leaned across the table. His fingers found the spot where he had charmed the lock of her hair back from her face. Another tingle and it swung free. "It's more effective if I remove my own charm."

 _So much for a good night's sleep_ , she thought.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I usually have a difficult time conjuring up names for my characters, but Corday Blankenship was the easiest one I've ever constructed. I came across the name Corday while doing genealogical research and Blankenship just popped into my head for some reason. So the title of this chapter is simply a tribute to the fact that one invented name, finally, was an effortless task. Well, that and the fact that Corday's eventual fate advances the plot, so remember that name!


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